The Demons Hidden Within
by whitemudfounder
Summary: Post-OotP. After five years ridden with self-denial, Harry returns to Hogwarts. Taking on the cursed Defense position, he must face his past and his demons in order to track Wormtail and bring justice to light. -On permanent hiatus. Kept for nostalgia.-
1. Sleepless Nights

OOTP SPOILERS. You've been warned  
  
Author's randomness (just skip if you care nothing on how my mind works or what may be expected): This originated with listening to too much Evanescence and liking my little one-shot fic a bit too much (in which Harry despairs after defeating Voldy), so angst is to be expected but it doesn't show much here (at least, I didn't think so). I have the general idea of where I'm taking this . . . In fact, I have most of the next chapter written along with some other random parts.  
  
I fiddled with this being HP/SS in the beginning, but I don't think that that's going to happen. If it does, I'll give ample warning (or try to). As it is, I haven't yet written slash (for anyone outside of Big Bertha, my computer, to see), and I don't know how it would turn out if I did. I may try a one-shot first before I go in that direction, if my mind ends up taking me there. Opinions/thoughts are welcome on the subject. The plot (Harry returns to teach DADA after a self-imposed exile), I know, has been done many times over, but then I figure I can give it my own quirks--at least I hope to do so. Eh, if you don't like 'em, don't read 'em. Either way, I need to get this out of my head, so please don't hate me forever.  
  
Points of concern: [1] Tone? Does it even sound like Harry? The first part reminded me of Severus for some reason. [2] The past will be revealed eventually, but is it too confusing now as it is? Hard to judge when I know what happened in my own little world. [3] My grammar sucks. Standardized testing also made a point of telling me this. [4] Exactly what rating is swearing supposed to get? Was never clear, and I don't think it ever will be. [5] I could never figure how to italicize . . .  
  
Disclaimer -- Ain't mine. Never will be. I'll have to deal with it and find an alternate means of paying for college. Damn. Also the means for defeating Voldy originated from a message board discussion, so that's not really mine either . . . nor is the plot, but that's besides the point.  
  
*~*~*  
  
The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 1: Sleepless Nights  
  
~*~*~  
  
I grumbled as I awoke from my dreams. Nightmares, actually, but dreams were what I was forced to call them now, otherwise it could mean the loss of another roommate and this one seemed worth holding on to. He was a friend, at any rate, and those seemed lacking as of late. Either classification of my mind's entrapments, the morning seemed much harder to face than my now-welcoming bed.  
  
I settled back down intent on another five minutes of sleep when the persistent alarm once again rent through my thoughts. Five minutes is not enough time. In a battle of wills against the clock, I pressed the snooze again. The night had been too short. An uneasy sleep disturbed too often, as always, haunted by the past I had tried to leave behind along with my name. And now that the sun was risen and my mind had ceased its torment I was going to get at least some blissful sleep.  
  
Yet, this sleep was denied to me again as a rather forceful pillow landed on my head. I groaned; the pillow laughed. Damn all laughing pillows to hell.  
  
"Gerroff me," I mumbled.  
  
The pillow insisted on being a hellish morning person. Pushing it off to the side the extra weight finally left my bed. I settled back down, letting my body forget its aches from the night. The pillow came again. Much lighter this time, thrown from a distance. It still served its godforsaken purpose in rousing my brain.  
  
"Want me to get some cold water?"  
  
An empty threat but my damning thoughts still tried to make their way into coherent words. They failed, though, as nothing functioned properly on its own, let alone having mind and lips work in cooperation. My mumbling trailed off, as my body settled down again. Such a warm bed.  
  
"Get up!" Jay's voice yelled near my ear.  
  
I jerked out of my decent to oblivious sleep, mumbling incoherently again. That morning smile of his seeped into his very voice. He enjoyed this way too much. On second thought, maybe I wouldn't mind losing this roommate along with the others.  
  
Opening, my eyes met with bright, dazzling, sunlight. As much as I hated the night, this was just torture. My eyes promptly closed again. The day was meant for sleeping. In the sunlight there are no demons behind the curtains, hidden in the shadows.  
  
"Well, if you're late again, you won't have to worry about getting up tomorrow."  
  
I groaned. Job in danger: the proper emergency lights of self-preservation refused to work. Screw all the heavens. Decent sleep took a high price, and I was willing to pay my dues at this moment. It would only be the third time, and I'd be able to find something else to take its place. If all else failed, my vault at Gringotts was still open. . . . They must have stopped watching it by now.  
  
Whatever had happened to playing bartender? Oh yea, the place with decent hours didn't house a decent owner. Figures, the fates must have some sick sadistic streak in them. . . . Or maybe that's only when weaving my threads.  
  
I resigned myself to opening my eyes and braving the light so that I could glare at Jay. He just had to bring that up and set my brain to reeling.  
  
"Hey, don't kill the messenger, Rex," he said, backing away, his hands splayed out in defense.  
  
Hmm. . . Didn't know my glare could manage that in the morning. Apparently I've finally found something with no trouble functioning at this godforsaken hour. I mentally pushed the analysis on the origin of that glare away for now, though. It's still too early for any deep thoughts of the past. My eyes closed again against the pushy sunlight.  
  
"Fine," Jay said, in his last ditch attempt, knowing anything besides words at the moment would be met with physical retaliation. "But you *are* going to pay your rent."  
  
Sharp footsteps and a slamming door were interrupted by an even sharper buzzing. The alarm clock sailed across the room before I could stop my arm. One loud crash later, silence reigned.  
  
But after all my stubbornness, sleep still eluded me.  
  
What god had I pissed off this time?  
  
I refused to get up on principle alone.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Two hours later saw me sitting in the small kitchen with a large cup of coffee engaged in a staring contest with the newspaper. No doubt, my current means of employment had been lost (late for a week straight tended to not go over well), and a search for another should commence, but my mind's wanderings to Gringotts had opened another door of possibility--one I had long since closed.  
  
Oedipus Lee, though, was not a part of the Wizarding World, and that was where I stumbled. I would risk exposure if I reawakened that abandoned vault. They would know where to find me, and I had run away for so long that I couldn't just show myself now.  
  
There, I admitted it: I had run away.  
  
After defeating the Dark Lord, Harry Potter had disappeared because he couldn't face the acts that he had committed and Oedipus, his life ruled by fate, had suddenly appeared in the Muggle World. A name muttered on the brink of collapse that'd been fitting when I finally regained my senses.  
  
I broke my staring with the newspaper (Damn inanimate objects, they always win.) and settled my gaze onto my marred right hand. Two fingers missing, and two half-salvaged, at least I still possessed my opposable thumb. Deep memories of the past attempted to surface. I focused on my Muggle explanation of a firecracker. Voldemort's face loomed in the night; it had no place to show itself in the day. I pushed the retched image away.  
  
Sighing, I resigned to opening the paper, but was interrupted by a tapping at the window.  
  
My mind refused to register what it saw. Now, of all times. I vehemently hated my past and its refusal to leave me be. But there it was, in physical form: a barn owl, in all its wizarding glory, sat impatiently on the ledge of the window.  
  
No.  
  
Hell no.  
  
Bloody Hell, NO.  
  
I pointedly picked up the paper, and began to flip through, but the tapping returned. The more I ignored it, the more persistent it became.  
  
Damn it all to the seventh circle.  
  
Reluctantly, I opened the window. And the owl swooped in with an insolent hoot that clearly meant: "Finally." She dropped her letter on the table before perching on the back of my previously occupied chair. So, she had orders for a reply.  
  
Ignoring the owl, I eyed the letter cautiously. Yellow parchment taunted me. I edged closer, knowing what to expect, but when the name hit me it still stung. "Harry Potter" stared back at me, written in sharp green ink. From Hogwarts, then. But I had known already this from the school owl.  
  
I refrained from touching it, from flipping it around only to see the Hogwarts crest, but my eyes refused to leave.  
  
I sat down, clutching my mug. The coffee inside grew cold as time held no meaning. I didn't move, all my thoughts centered on that single letter. Afraid to open it, afraid to travel back to that world I had tried to forget. Tried, but never succeeded. And pushing it away only caused so much more suffering.  
  
I saw once again Ron's final sacrifice and Sirius falling through the veil, as I had seen them just last night. My left hand rubbed my scar. Once again, these thoughts were not meant for the clear light of day. Yet, they refused to pay any attention to my rules.  
  
Would I ever be free? Couldn't I ever escape?  
  
After only five years of solitude, the letter silently screamed the answer: no.  
  
I could just burn it. . . .  
  
I fiddled with the thought of destroying the letter. Then memories of Uncle Vernon surfaced. The thought was pushed aside, as an option but not something to immediately act upon. The letter hadn't won, though--It wasn't about to be opened just yet either.  
  
I settled to having a staring contest with my past name. . . .  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Most people would open a letter to see what's inside."  
  
I jerked violently out of my reverie. Janis sat across the table, a look of concern in her eyes.  
  
"Chinese?" She offered, pushing the white cartons toward me. One was already clutched in her hands, chopsticks sticking out. Well, she'd been here a while without my noticing.  
  
"Jay sent you," I said.  
  
I hesitated before claiming a carton of rice. Food couldn't hurt the situation.  
  
"Yes," She answered, even though I hadn't asked. "He was worried."  
  
I didn't reply. My thoughts still lingered with the owl post.  
  
"And so am I," She continued, taking on the one-sided conversation. "When was the last time you slept?"  
  
But my mind and eyes had returned fully to the letter, and I answered dejectedly, "Last night."  
  
"I mean truly slept? No 'dreams' as you insist on calling them?" She tried to rephrase the question.  
  
I didn't answer and could feel her rolling her eyes. Part of me just wanted to be alone while I sorted through my rapid thoughts. Another part needed her to be there.  
  
"Just open the thing," she snapped after a time, a note of anxiety in her voice.  
  
I did nothing. She sighed, and her gaze followed mine, finally looking at the letter she'd only half regarded before. Concerned, she turned it towards her, so she knew she was reading it right. I made no move to stop her.  
  
I knew what was coming before the words left her lips. "Harry Potter?"  
  
"Just a wrong address," I answered after a moment's hesitation, looking away. Lessons from Occlumency kicked in, and I closed my mind of emotion.  
  
"You're lying," she said calmly, no hint of anger at not having my confidences.  
  
I looked around towards Janis, one eyebrow raised in question.  
  
She rolled her eyes, in turn, at my facial expression. "One: your tone. Two: A wrong address wouldn't put you in this state. And three: There's no stamp or address, just a name."  
  
She pointed to the envelope to make her point. Damn.  
  
"It's nothing," I said, half-hoping that she would drop the subject and leave me alone. But that annoying half of me, one I tried deeply to suppress, urged her on in her pursuit against my hope. It yearned to talk to someone, to tell the Muggle what I really was. Inner turmoil reigned.  
  
"Well, it's obviously something, as I can feel it." Bloody hell, the logical woman has to give me something I can't deny.  
  
"It's a long story." Ha, at least that was the truth.  
  
"I've got time," she countered. Persistent, freelancing bastard.  
  
My mind twitched in its battle. I turned away, not wanting her to read my face. I wanted . . . no, needed . . . someone to freely talk to. As offering as Janis was, she *couldn't* understand, and any story I gave her would be just that: a story. But, she sat there and was willing to hear me out. Like Jay, she offered to be that friend.  
  
"I . . . " I paused, indecisive. "I can't."  
  
She didn't say anything for a moment, seeing the inner pain reflected in my green eyes. I never thought my "power" over the Dark Lord, would come to affect me in this way. Why had it not disappeared when I felt his cruelty constrict around my heart? Why had I not yet given into those temptations on the edge of my consciousness?  
  
"Do you want me to read it . . .?" She offered. It was a pull back to the present reality.  
  
By this time, she rightfully suspected me to be the mysterious Harry Potter. Had I wanted her to discover this?  
  
The owl hooted to my right, giving her an affirmative.  
  
"Should I ask about the owl?" She was genuinely curious. From her tone, she seemed to say that there was nothing wrong with it being an owl--just that the presence of any animal deemed her curiosity. Well, at least she hadn't freaked out about it.  
  
"She came with the letter," I answered the indirect question.  
  
"She?" There's nothing like saying too much.  
  
"It's in her tone . . ." I began to explain before trailing off. A bit odd to recognize the gender of an owl by her *tone*, isn't it?  
  
"Didn't know you cold tell that . . ." Genuine interest, again, I couldn't deny her that.  
  
I made an attempt at a reply, but stopped myself before the sound passed my lips. That would definitely file under "too much information." We lapsed into an uneasy silence while we ate. She wanted me to talk while I was unwilling.  
  
"So," She finally broke it, as I knew she eventually would. "Do you want me to read it?" The same question asked, this time much more forcefully.  
  
"No," I finally answered it.  
  
As much as I would love to tell her my secrets, she was still an innocent Muggle and the letter an unknown factor. I couldn't drag her into the past . . . just yet, at any rate.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Alright," she was reluctant to give up the subject, but checking her watch realized that she couldn't take on my silence much longer. "I have to get an article on animal rescuers typed up--Can't really miss the second deadline. I'll call you later." She made it sound like a threat, meaning I had better open that letter before the phone rang.  
  
I gave her a wane smile, "Thanks."  
  
"Anytime," she said, as she walked towards the door. But she wasn't quite done, and as the door closed she called back, "And get some sleep!" Ah, if only sleep could be commanded.  
  
I sighed, massaging my temples. I could not deny the fact that the letter existed, nor could I terminate that existence--The owl stood as a reminder to that. She wouldn't leave until I replied, or at least opened the damn thing. So, I resigned to my fate, and finally picked it up.  
  
The telltale purple wax seal greeted me as I turned it over. Nothing unpredictable yet, that would be remedied shortly. I broke the seal and pulled out the thick yellow parchment. Two articles fell out with it. I picked up the first one from the Daily Prophet:  
  
*********  
  
Death Eaters still at large  
  
Last Saturday, the Dark Mark made a simultaneous appearance at five distinct locations throughout the country. This serves as an unhappy reminder that Death Eaters are still hidden among the Wizarding population. In an announcement on Monday, spokesman Percy Weasley stated, once again, that the culprits were unknown and warned that any suspicious activity should be reported immediately to the Auror Headquarters.  
  
Weasley also took care to note the three known Death Eaters who are not yet in captivity, and obvious suspects to the crime: Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. They seem to have disappeared along with the Dark Lord's fall five years ago, but the Ministry still warns that they are highly dangerous and not to be approached if seen.  
  
Sirius Black, after escaping Azkaban in July 1993, has since been charged for many crimes linking with the Dark Lord's second rise to power. Not least of which is aiding in the breakout of ten fellow Death Eaters. Nine of those have since been recaptured or killed. The last, Bellatrix Lestrange, is still free. Her crimes since Azkaban range the same scope as Black's, both being a part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.  
  
Lucius Malfoy's position in the Dark Lord's ranks was never confirmed. He was imprisoned and escaped shortly after when the Dementors abandoned Azkaban. Even though his wife and son plead ignorance, sources say that Malfoy Mansion is being thoroughly monitored.  
  
************  
  
I scowled. Sirius as a mass murderer, Malfoy's position as "never confirmed", and Malfoy Jr. free to walk the streets. Lestrange's freedom only served to add salt to the wound. The Ministry assumed too many rumors and questioned the facts. They would never change.  
  
Sirius had been dead for over seven years, but they refused to accept that on the basis of no corpse for evidence. I remembered that lurid night which marked the anniversary of the event all too clearly. Compared to it, last night was a dreamless sleep.  
  
The second article, from a magazine, proclaimed: "Peter Pettigrew, Alive?" Intrigued, I scanned the page. Apparently several people claimed to have seen him in a Muggle pub close to Hogsmeade. Interesting. Maybe members from the Order would come forward once again. It seemed unlikely though, Wormtail would have to be caught for any legal action to happen. As much as it seemed to not matter, it would settle a part of my restless soul to not have Sirius's memory marred as it is.  
  
The byline of the article caught my eye: Luna Lovegood. A little more searching found the Quibbler's logo in the bottom left corner. Well, that explained some things, mainly how the article had been published and the percentage of wizards who would believe it. It did nothing to settle my continuing frustrated anger at the situation.  
  
Thoughts of Luna caused me to pause. She had been the one person who understood me in those last two years, and it had hurt to leave her. But then, everything in that last week had caused so much pain and grief. . . .  
  
I pushed away the rampant thoughts. Just read the letter and get this done with. My fingers began to unfold the parchment of their own accord, and before I knew it I was looking down onto the Hogwarts stationary and abandoned all hopes of completely leaving go of my past.  
  
**********  
  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
With one month left until the start of term, I find myself once again without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Knowing the value of this course, you may understand my need to keep it as a part of Hogwarts's core curriculum, but that will not be possible if no one comes forth to accept the post.  
  
Your past achievements speak for themselves in showing that you are more than capable of taking on this position. I am willing to offer it to you without further preamble. Please take this offer into careful consideration. I have enclosed recent articles that you may find beneficial.  
  
A meeting for the finer points before you reach your final decision can be arranged at your convenience, just send the details with your return owl.  
  
Yours Sincerely,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
Headmaster  
  
***********  
  
I cursed Dumbledore fluently. The man was as sadistic as the fates. I wouldn't have been surprised if he himself were responsible for the previous night, if only to make me consider this more. He had to know the predicament he put me in. I was out of a job, and he was offering me one.  
  
Bloody Hell . . . 


	2. Manipulations

Chapter 2: Manipulations  
  
I sat alone at a table in an obscure cafe about a block from The Leaky Cauldron, wondering not for the first time why I had sent that owl three days ago. It would have been so easy to ignore. The chattering around me, though oddly soothing in that I was not a part of it, did nothing to settle my apprehensions.  
  
Jay was to blame for this. Of course, I shouldn't have tried to explain my problems to him either. But that was beside the point at the moment. He gave me advice, and for some odd reason beyond my control I had listened.  
  
At least he had pointedly ignored the owl. That could have been a bit harder to explain than, "The world's best manipulator has targeted me." And that basically summed up my situation.  
  
I looked around the small shop again but saw no one I recognized. Sighing, my head turned to the window. A slight drizzle had begun. It surely reflected my mood. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to leave my past as just that, and move off into obscurity in the Muggle world. I did not want to be manipulated into teaching for a year.  
  
Teaching? Perhaps Dumbledore *had* gone senile in his old age. Yet, my mind unwillingly wandered to the D.A., the pride I had felt at those meetings and the satisfaction I had of passing on knowledge to others. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad.  
  
What had I just thought? I arranged this meeting only to settle my mind and tell Dumbledore, or whomever he sent, that I was no longer a part of the Wizarding World. I did not want my flat bombarded with owls. And neither, I believed, did Jay for that matter.  
  
The door opened and I turned towards it. Remus Lupin appeared worse for wear. Hair gray beyond his years, deep lines shone from his face. The man wore a smile, though, that betrayed the years of sorrow in his eyes. His Muggle clothing was about as threadbare as his robes had been the last time I had seen him.  
  
He scanned the room, eyes passing over the darkened customer near the window. I happened to be that customer, though, and as much as it amused me that I hadn't been recognized for once, I wanted this over with. I raised my hand slightly off the table, and he caught the movement. Realization dawned and he weaved his way through the patrons towards my corner.  
  
Dumbledore really knew how to make this difficult for me. I couldn't be as short and curt as I wanted to be on this matter with Remus. Damn him for thinking this through all too thoroughly. Many nights had my thoughts strayed to the werewolf. And now here he was, willing to talk and give me advice, to hand me Dumbledore's offer that became harder and harder to refuse with each passing minute.  
  
He sat down opposite me without a word, his smile faded. Taking out a larger envelope of the same customary yellow parchment, he handed it to me.  
  
"All the details for you. It's a magically binding contract, by the way, for one year," he said quickly. So, Dumbledore had put him up to it.  
  
I raised an eyebrow, and his smile from before returned.  
  
"Why me?" I asked the question right out.  
  
His concern showed through. "Albus doesn't want you to suffer like you have been, Oedipus."  
  
So, they also knew my name. A clever way at telling me that they'd been watching me.  
  
"Don't worry," Remus assured as he saw the look on my face. "As far as I'm aware, only Albus knows. And you could be Professor Lee for all he cares."  
  
"I mean," I amended my question, "Why does he think I'm capably of such a thing?"  
  
"That's a rather obvious answer," Remus tried to shrug off my question. I glared and he continued. "I remember a certain Dumbledore's Army which points to you being a more than competent teacher. Also . . . Well, you know you're Defense. That's sort of obvious."  
  
Damn Remus for being so likable. It was impossible to scowl at his remark. "It's not like I needed much Defense in the end, though. . . ." I kept the images at bay, no need to relive those right now.  
  
"Do you mind if I ask . . ." His sense of curiosity prompted the question, but that of privacy stopped him from finishing it.  
  
"How?" I took the initiative to finish it for him.  
  
"Yes," he confirmed, nodding.  
  
I sighed. Remus opened his mouth to apologize for asking. Better sooner than later someone would have to know, I resigned.  
  
"I didn't," I said quietly. He closed his mouth.  
  
I paused, long enough for his confusion to settle in. My hands twisted together painfully.  
  
"I gave him mercy," I explained a bit more. Another pause before I elaborated. "I had the chance to kill him, but I couldn't do it. I turned my back and when he tried to kill me, the curse rebounded onto him. Added to his recent Wizard's debt, it was enough."  
  
"He died by his own hand," Remus whispered to himself.  
  
"I would like to think so." I said. I didn't voice to him that I took the fault because that would lead to his rationalizing against me. I'd been through all the reasons before (Prominent factors being that he was a homicidal psycho and had only died because he'd tried to kill me.) and I had no intention of going through them again. My mental state was in enough stress as it currently stood.  
  
"I'm sorry," Remus said sincerely.  
  
His sympathy cut though to me even though I did my best to block it out. I tried to tell myself I didn't want his sympathy, but I did want it. After so long, I needed it. I needed someone to know what happened that night. I wouldn't admit that to myself, though.  
  
He then handed across the table something I never expected to see again, keeping it carefully shielded from prying eyes. Thunder rumbled threateningly outside as I picked up the thin stick of polished wood. That couldn't be a good omen. Nonetheless, I grinned for the first time since receiving that owl.  
  
"Where --?" I began to ask, but couldn't form the question.  
  
"Albus was keeping it. That night he picked it up before the Ministry's crew arrived and could confiscate it as evidence. Its brother was destroyed --"  
  
I nodded, dejected as the images flashed through my mind: Me dropping my wand as I turned my back, Voldemort's curse unable to leave the tip of his. . . .  
  
The wand seemed as happy to see me as I it. It was collecting fresh power from the surroundings and a surge of power flowed through me. Before the power reached the point of needing release, I quickly stashed it in my back pocket. At Remus's knowing smile I shook my head in amusement.  
  
"Come on!" I said in mock outrage. "The only person who ever lost a buttocks that way was Mundungus himself."  
  
Remus merely rolled his eyes. A barrier seemed to shift from between us, and though neither of us spoke, the silence following was that of friends.  
  
"So," Remus said after a few minutes, trying to sound professional and failing miserably. I raised an eyebrow in interest. "Have you given this . . . er, offer . . . much thought?"  
  
"Three days of nothing else," I answered. "And I'm no closer to reaching a decision than I was when I began."  
  
Remus wasn't helping my piece of mind at all on the choice in front of me either. My intentions for the meeting had been to prove myself just how much I did not want to return to the Wizarding World, say a resound "no", and never look back. These had been thrown out the third story window the moment I saw Remus enter and now they were currently being run over repeatedly by the Knight Bus. Amazingly, they were still screaming to be saved. I spent so much effort in avoiding this world, and now this werewolf made my resolves waver. And Dumbledore had planned this.  
  
I had wanted to confirm that the Wizarding World did not need nor want me. I wanted to abandon it just as it had abandoned me. But proof against all of this rested in Remus, now sitting before me. Remus, whom I had left without a second thought and hadn't even cared to say Goodbye. And this man was willing to forgive me all that and more. He showed me no malice or hurt, merely understanding. And, damn it, understanding was what I needed after so long.  
  
Why hadn't Dumbledore sent Snape? But my thoughts wavered once more. He could have easily sent the packet with an owl, too. And it's easier still to turn down an owl than an actual person. He had planned all of this and calculated all my reactions, the bastard, and there was no way I could get out of this now. Even as I knew I was being manipulated, I couldn't stop it.  
  
I faltered in my thoughts. Dumbledore was flat out telling me, through this, that I had no better choice to make. But I couldn't accept that just yet.  
  
"I just . . ." My mind stumbled for words. "I just need someone to tell me that I made the right choice."  
  
I avoided Remus's eyes, and stared instead into my swirling coffee. Hypnotically beautiful in the stormy din of the cafe.  
  
"You did," Remus said. In his tone I could tell that he wasn't just telling me what I wanted to hear. "If only because it was your own, you made the right choice. But you can't avoid your past forever. As sure as you felt it when you touched your wand, you are a wizard. If you want to leave Harry Potter behind, so be it, but don't forget who you are inside because in the end that's all that matters."  
  
He paused, trying to get my eyes to look up at him. When I didn't movie he continued: "I ask you for Sirius's sake, Harry--Oedipus. Come back . . . under any name. Just don't keep on denying yourself who you truly are."  
  
I looked up into his eyes. They revealed all the pain he'd suffered, physically and mentally, his whole life. His hand dealt in life had been much harder than mine, and he still managed.  
  
He, also, was singled out in the Wizarding World for an aspect he could not control. He had lived as a Muggle. It made his transformations at the time so much harder than normal. In the Muggle world, there are no healing potions to help the day after. Slowly, his health had diminished until he had resigned himself to his fate as an outcast and returned to the hidden world. Shortly after, Dumbledore offered him the same post I was being offered now.  
  
"Have you slept recently?" He asked, taking me by surprise.  
  
I thought that would have been obvious to anyone who saw my appearance. At my startled expression he smiled. Like he had done with my wand, a vial was pushed casually across the table. Snape's sharp writing proclaimed: "Dreamless Sleep -- SS 8/03"  
  
He shrugged. "You have to admit, there are advantages."  
  
"How many people does Dumbledore have trying to recruit me?"  
  
"I doubt Snape knew of the circumstances or the receiver, otherwise I may not have passed it on to you ."  
  
"That's reassuring," I said sarcastically. His mischievous grin showed that he, also, had thought of along the same lines of "accidental" poisoning.  
  
He glanced quickly at his watch.  
  
"Another meeting?" I asked. He was willing to talk all day, but I wanted an excuse to be alone -- even if it were Remus's own.  
  
He scowled at my playfully. He hadn't wanted me to see the glance.  
  
"Luna Lovegood --" He went to explain, but I cut him off.  
  
"The Wormtail article? Dumbledore sent it to me." I added at his questioning look.  
  
"Yes. I expect Albus wants to remind you of the yet unresolved. And of what you can possibly help with -- he has some interesting theoretical ideas that I'll leave him to say. As far as I can tell it involves a transfer of power or something connected with the Dark Mark and your scar -- "  
  
I could feel his eyes scanning my forehead.  
  
"Muggle make-up," I said, not wanting to draw it out.  
  
He saw my discomfort and switched the topic back. "Anyroad, I want to remind Luna of your interview with Skeeter where you listed the Death Eaters you knew of. Wormtail was overlooked at the time. I don't even know if that name is on any of the Ministry's "lists." Also, I want to give her an anonymous alternative account for Sirius's innocence. It can't hurt. The Quibbler's reputation is starting to change, at any rate. But it can wait if you want to --"  
  
"No, you should go. It can do some good and Luna's not one to stand up."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Well, I wouldn't have said it otherwise. I nodded. "I need to think . . ."  
  
"Albus'll need your answer . . ." He offered a kind smile. Those smiles always got to me. My resolve was failing fast and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  
  
"He already knows it," I said resentfully. As an afterthought added, " But, I'll give him it formally soon. I just . . . don't want to admit it yet. Mental overload, I guess."  
  
"Sleep on it." He motioned towards the vial as he stood up to leave.  
  
We shook hands formally, but he pulled me closer, laughing lowly.  
  
"Hope to see you soon, Oedipus."  
  
"Either way," I replied. I had left Remus once and wouldn't do it again--I blamed the smile.  
  
He left and I followed soon after. The rain had increased slightly; it didn't strike me as a pleasant sign.  
  
I walked for a bit, removed from the crowd around me, lost in my own thoughts. They all smiled ignorantly and went along with a life of their own choosing. I considered rejecting it all out of spite, but that wasn't a satisfying reason for my conscious.  
  
The world around me went on with the day, but could not be a part of that no matter how hard I had been trying these last years. My past haunted me still. It always would.  
  
Remus was right, I could not deny myself who I truly was. I could not be a part of the Muggle world. He knew this from his own life. No matter how hard I had tried these last years, my past still lingered on the edge.  
  
So, my option came down to a clear yea or nay.  
  
Nay: I would go on with this, wander with no destination in mind, hide from my past, face my dreams and my turmoil at night. But, this was my own choice. Here no one knew my name and I was just another face in the crowd (A crowd I could not be an active part of). I liked the anonymity. Also, I wouldn't have to face Dumbledore's manipulations.  
  
Yea: I would go to Hogwarts, teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, reenter the Wizarding World, sleep at night. Not to mention the people I had left behind without caring for, Remus being the main figure among them. Perhaps others would reenter my acquaintances, or perhaps not. Also, anonymity was possible. Oedipus Lee was far away from the last pictures of Harry Potter (Longer hair, hidden scar, different glasses, dulled eyes . . . and it had been five years since anyone had seen Harry Potter) and if I presented myself in such light, no one would be the wiser.  
  
But I didn't want to turn back. To face my past would be a bitter turn after locking it away for so long. And the society of the Wizarding World would never learn from its mistakes. So much better to let it rot behind me instead of in front of me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I wondered, briefly, if Hermione had yet figured this out.  
  
There was also Voldemort's power. I felt that hidden power stir within me even now. It had surged when I touched my wand. And that power drew me to it; The Dark I harbored inside was inescapable. It was so pleasurable in its absence of morals, so addicting. I didn't know if I would be able to keep the Dark suppressed inside me if I once again used my wand. Could I take that risk?  
  
I saw dingy sign for The Leaky Cauldron out of the corner of my eye. The presence of the building only separated me more from the Muggles around me. Without a second glance, I passed it by.  
  
Could I go back again even for Sirius's sake? 


	3. Troubled Dreams

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 3: Troubled Dreams  
  
(reposted)  
  
*~*~*  
  
"I don't like the idea of this prophecy being set in stone." Hermione tried to rationalize once again in the pre-dawn common room.  
  
For three hours now she had been attempting to rationalize against my fate. Her reaction had been simple: pure disbelief. Well, there'd been a circle: disbelief, anger, tears, a bit of acceptance . . . But in the end, all her feelings had revolved back to the initial skepticism.  
  
It was the beginning of our seventh year when I confided the Lost Prophecy in Hermione. After my sixth year of solitude and rejection of my classmates I was feeling all too clearly that tug of need for someone to just listen to my plight. I finally broke after the first week of school. Seventh year classes, in preparation for N.E.W.T.s, were enough to break anyone, but when I stumbled into the common room after a particularly harsh Occlumency lesson with Snape everything had finally collapsed around me. And Hermione had been there.  
  
For her part she listened and I silently thanked her for that. Yet, when I had talked myself out, she put in her fair say also. As much as she assured me, it was frustrating when she wouldn't admit to he slightest possibility that the prophecy could be correct. That I could, indeed, be the wizarding world's last hope against Voldemort: the one, and only one, holding the unknown weapon that might destroy him. And even at that it was only a "might," the resistance may be all for nothing in the end.  
  
"It's the most imprecise branch of magic, I know!" I finally said in exasperation.  
  
Hermione looked at me, a bit of fright in her eyes. I couldn't blame her, as I was scared myself. I had been frightened beyond comprehension for the past year with the prospect of kill or be killed before me. Sleep eluded me, and I never comprehended that it may never return to its normal fervor.  
  
"I know," I whispered, on the verge of another mental breakdown. "But no matter how many times that mantra is repeated, the fact remains that this prophecy is true."  
  
"I can't believe that," she said in determination to convince the both of us.  
  
I looked into her eyes and after those agonizing three hours I finally understood. I turned away and became entranced in the glowing embers of the fire.  
  
"You don't *want* to believe." I knew I sounded bitter, but I had to tell her.  
  
She closed her eyes at my words, trying to organize her thoughts. She knew she had to tread carefully now else she would lose me in angry remarks.  
  
"Perhaps," she replied, composing herself. "But even so, we have to chose our own paths in life, you included. And no 'Lost Prophecy' can change all that. It can't rule you."  
  
Never, I believed, had Hermione been so caught up in her misjudgment. She refused to accept the prophecy as fact because then her whole world of "free choice" would come tumbling down. That world had only ever been a mirage in the desert of existence, but now she held on to it firm.  
  
"Hermione, you spent a year with a time turner, and you're still telling me that pre-destination is only an illusion?"  
  
I knew that I had hurt her with my sharp tone, but I couldn't bring myself to give her sympathy when I had also been forced through the shattering of my personal reality. Turning away, lost in her thoughts, she muttered "Oedipus Rex" to herself.  
  
"Who . . .?" I asked cautiously.  
  
After six years, it was still a bit scary when she came across a sudden revelation and not in one's best interest to interrupt her when in the process. I still hated when she went off on her tangents and expected everyone to know what she was talking about. Even with that dislike, I had still not read Hogwarts, a History (mainly out of spite). To my amazement she didn't scoff at my questioning, instead she turned back and gave me a wane smile through the dim light.  
  
"Oedipus Rex . . . it's just some random mythology. The actions taken to prevent a prophecy merely make it come about," she tried to shrug it off, but at my piercing 'What the Hell?' look she explained more. "Voldemort tried to prevent you from living long enough to wield 'the power to vanquish' him, and in doing so 'marked' you . . . By him trying to prevent the prophecy it was fulfilled. The prophecy caused itself."  
  
Pushing the seeming randomness from my mind, I nodded so that she would think I understood and would stop taxing my reasoning ability. With my current worries, no logic was derived from it, but little did I know that it would show up later and making perfect sense when I became lost in its recesses.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Red eyes glared down at me, cat's pupils dilated. If the being before me possessed any feelings, I may have classified the look as scared. As it was, he was merely calculating. I thought I had lost any will of movement in my limbs, but that was clearly not the case as my wand swished downwards seemingly of its own accord.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices yelled at the same moment.  
  
The green jets of light from both our wands collided in midair. Our wands once again connected with a stand of emerald. Unable to move from the spell, I waited for the traditional cage to form. Yet, it didn't appear. A sphere of red light began to surface in the middle of the strand. I focussed my will on it, trying to force it towards Voldemort's wand as he attempted the same. Our wills met and the sphere grew larger, feeding off of us both.  
  
I shifted my will to contain also the overwhelming emotions I harbored inside. All the hope I had for a future beyond this night went into the sphere. All my faith in a better world followed it. All the love and caring I had felt. Thoughts of Sirius. Thoughts of my friends. Thoughts of the family I never had but always saw.  
  
The ball began to pull in the green strands, taking Voldemort and I closer to it. As the tip of my wand became immersed in the dazzling scarlet, I regained motion in my arm and jerked it out.  
  
The connection broke and the sphere of raw power exploded around me. A large shard caught my wand-hand. My fingers crushed under the pressure, but I refused to leave go of my only weapon. Out of reflex, I clutched my hand to my chest. It would be painful if I cared to notice at the time.  
  
My attention was instead directed at Voldemort. The blasted power hit him in the chest, taking him to the ground. He lay in a moment of vulnerability. With unsteady grip, I raised my wand. The one wand that held the only shadow of a chance to defeat the Dark Lord now stood in the midst of its solitary opportunity.  
  
My arm, so quick to bring death before, refused to crack down with the final words I held on my lips. The tombstones loomed in the darkness around our battleground, death waiting to welcome one of us. Fatigued, I looked down at Voldemort and I could see the shadow of a man abandoned so long ago gasping for air.  
  
A man. Voldemort, the epitome of all hatred, was still a man. He writhed now on the floor, hands searching for his dropped wand through a daze of pain. Now was my only chance, but I couldn't bring myself to commit murder. No matter how many innocent lives this man had taken, I couldn't take his own.  
  
Holding my breath, I lowered my arm in defeat. Blood rolled from my hand, trickling its way down the wand and dripping off the end. It had all come to this. The crimson-stained wand fell from my ruined hand, hitting the hollowed earth without a sound. My back turned on the form of a broken man.  
  
I spared his life for reasons unknown. I gave him the mercy that he had given up on. I would devote endless hours to analyzing my actions, but that moment of clarity when I had dropped my wand never returned to me. The reasons were lost before they had even been found. An act of pure mercy. Perhaps it was even an act of hope: that the man called Tom Riddle was not completely gone. A Wizard's debt emerged that even I didn't consider.  
  
But my mercy was lost on Voldemort. He could not conceive of my actions, did not understand that there would be consequences in breaking that debt. He still could not comprehend of that ancient magic more powerful than death.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" The spell was rasped out behind me.  
  
I turned sharply on my heel to see a mangled Voldemort kneeling behind me, wand raised. The green light only left the wand for a moment before rebounding onto the caster in blinding death. With a rush of power the curse fell through the wand, causing it to shatter before hitting its caster.  
  
He died before he fell.  
  
As his body hit the earth, power surged through me. A darkness I had never known penetrated into my very soul, constricted around my heart. I refused to give into its temptations and accept it as my own power, holding it at bay for only the time being. It would always loom on the recesses of my conscious self, never letting me be at peace.  
  
I succeeded in my destiny. Voldemort was dead. But there was a final catch: all that had made him lived on in me. With that final thought, I apparated to a random part of Muggle London.  
  
In that anonymous side street I let go of all reality. I centered all my thoughts on past events, on all of my life leading up to that second confrontation in Little Hangleton's forsaken graveyard. Nothing mattered anymore. The fates had ruled my life. There was indeed no such thing so extravagant as a free will.  
  
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.*  
  
He cast the spell from his hand, but I reflected the curse. His blood was on my hands. I scratched at them, but only more blood surfaced. Shooting pains went up my right arm, and it was then that I realized the crushed right hand, mangled nearly beyond recognition.  
  
I am Oedipus. I centered on that idea, obsessed over those three words.  
  
My life is ruled by fate and I am that King who falls into an inescapable loop.  
  
Oedipus. I am Oedipus.  
  
For weeks, though I knew no time, I could think only that. I muttered, mumbled and screamed only those words: I am Oedipus.  
  
It was a comforting insanity. Into my mind, I fell, lost in my despair. And throughout it all, the Dark lingered. When I reached the bottom of my pit, it made itself known all the more. It was a way out of this cruel cycle. I could brush out all life and forge the world anew. I could rule over all, I held that power to do so. I only had to lose myself in the Dark's temptations.  
  
But I didn't want that. I wanted only to wallow in my own Hell. I grasped onto my own despair.  
  
I AM OEDIPUS.  
  
I declared the only thing that could not be disputed in my inner battle. I surrendered into my insanity. I lost myself in its haunting voices of the past, lingered on the verge of death and sheer abandonment of my cursed life. Yet, those three words kept me focused and alive. Screamed into the night, they awoke me from my mind's illusions. Muttered in the light, they helped me remember who I was beyond the famous Harry Potter.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Randomness: Sorry this is short. There should be another scene in here, but it just wasn't working and I wanted to get this posted as I'll be leaving Saturday for Ocean City. Which means a week without a computer. If all goes well, I'll get lots written, which means faster posts when I get back . . . hopefully. Though my vacations aren't known to go over to well, so I'll see. . . . eh, anything is possible.  
  
A big thanks to my reviewers, you all made my day! :-)  
  
Randomness again: I'm back! Edited this chapter while on vacation. Nothing significant, but some parts just made me cringe . . . ::shrugs:: I have the one scene I was having trouble with written out as well as some random parts for later chapters. (and, damn, that was hard to do . . . may have a bit of trouble translating my writing into actual words). I might just post that scene as a separate chapter, even though it's sorta short, once I type it -- Don't know yet. Should update soon either way, so long as my muse didn't stay lounging on the beach. 


	4. Dreamless Hopes

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 4: Dreamless Hopes  
  
~*~*~  
  
Jay brought me out of my ceaseless torment. Cold water drenching my face pulled me back to the here and now. Painfully real, so painfully alive. I had fallen asleep on the couch earlier, the seemingly random information from Dumbledore splayed before me. Once crisp - now crinkled and crushed . . . and slightly damp.  
  
I peeled a parchment off of my arm and laid it next to the others, trying to smooth it out. Random, yes, but not without its purpose. It listed the past 30 years of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, half of which were dead or incapacitated. Not a very pleasant thought. No wonder the general public thought of the position as cursed.  
  
"James Potter: 80-81 (deceased)" was listed near the bottom. It had caught my eye before I had drifted off to the nearest thing I could call sleep. He, like those after, had managed only one year. The name before him, one "Joan Francis," had taught for six. The supposed curse began with my father.  
  
"You alright?" I heard Jay from behind me, wise to put distance between us after that type of awakening.  
  
The sound of his voice breaking into my lulling caused me to jump and interrupt any cutting remark I could give him.  
  
"Ya . . . it's just . . . I don't know . . . maybe not . . ." I trailed off, rambling. Damn him for washing away my composure. It didn't matter that I had none to begin with, I needed to curse something mentally.  
  
He suppressed a laugh. I would have glared, but he wasn't in my direct line of vision. A towel landed next to me. Eh, at least he thought in advance.  
  
"Just stop the 'I am Oedipus' shit, it's getting on my nerves. And I, unlike you, need to get up tomorrow."  
  
He moved to walk away with a wide berth around me, but his steps faltered as his eye caught something, apparently glowing of itself, on the end table. This time, he didn't make any effort to suppress his inane laugh as he picked up the vial and tossed it on top of the towel.  
  
"Well . . . any help you can get, right?"  
  
I stared at the vial as he retreated to his never-failingly-pleasant dreams, mesmerized by its swirling blue; the contents like a foreboding sky before a storm. Some internal light cast a soporific glow upon my hand, calling to my restlessness.  
  
I knew the consequences of drinking this elixir. In the morning I would send my acceptance to face my past. That is the price of sleep: to return to the land I had forsaken. I would be forced to fall back into the inevitable cycles.  
  
Once I took this night's potion, I would only need more. After given this type of release from its torment my body would override my emotions and call endlessly for this until satisfied. I would need to return to the wizarding world . . .  
  
With those resigning thoughts, I tilted my head back and drank. Snape would be satisfied to know that he had brewed me a poison: one to my ever- pressing illusions of hiding from fate, of free will.  
  
As the vial slipped from my calmed fingers, I surrendered willingly to a state of consciousness I had all but forgotten.  
  
*~*~*  
  
I talked with Janis the next morning. Better to tell her than Jay. She was already involved with the letter that had started this whole business. At least, that was how I tried to reason it to myself. In all reality, I woke up from beautiful nothingness to see her typing away on her laptop in the chair next to me. She was there and I desperately needed to talk. It could have been anyone.  
  
No doubt Jay had once again informed her of my sleeping habits. Perhaps he even feared for them. He wouldn't go so far as to say much, but Janis read him well and confronted me so much more easily. That's really all that made these friendships work.  
  
I watched her for a time before I would alerted her sensors by moving. Her face screwed up in concentration as she searched for the perfect word for her recent endeavor. She began to type, stopped, held down "delete" for a time, and started typing again - a cycle that eventually lead to something of content.  
  
I had thought she was joking when she told me her chosen profession was freelance writing. But she had been completely serious and managed to live rather well for being self-employed.  
  
As I laid there, mesmerized by her intensity, my mind drifted without bounds to Luna Lovegood and the unpaid articles of the Quibbler. Writers so desperate as to write for nothing. Janis's career was definitely beyond those points of obscurity. I'm sure her heart, though, still goes out to those with the same dream, having followed the same path.  
  
I closed my eyes as a yawn escaped my mouth. Simultaneously stretching the length of my body, losing my balance and falling gracelessly onto the floor. The fates hated me.  
  
"Nice that you've returned to the land of the living."  
  
"Damn your morningness." Shit. I hadn't meant to voice that curse aloud.  
  
"Morning's long gone. But if I ever to possess 'morningness' in the future, please feel free to slap me back to reality."  
  
It took a while for this to register. Looking at my watched confirmed her statement. Three o'clock was long past morning. Nonetheless, it still didn't help the case for her cheerfulness in my sleep-drowsed mind.  
  
"Seems Harry Potter has methods of sleeping."  
  
"Among other things," I replied bitterly, refusing to pick myself off the floor.  
  
I was still trying to grasp around the fact that for the first time in too long to remember I actually felt well rested.  
  
I yawned again - a yawn of waking - and, bloody hell, it felt satisfying. Though I'd known it last night, it finally hit me that Dumbledore had won.  
  
Janis hit a final key before closing her computer, and fixing me with her gaze. She attempted to raise an eyebrow, but failed miserably in the attempt. Needless, I answered the unasked questions with the after-effects of Dreamless Sleep making me ramble and say more than intended. I didn't fight them.  
  
"Harry Potter was part of a different world. A world within this one. Separated, yet all too connected. This society I tried to leave behind with the name that identified me there. But clearly I only fooled myself. There are benefits, yes, sleep being one of those. Yet, in the end, it wasn't worth the bigotry . . . the whole mentality of the place. . . ."  
  
I knew I was rambling, knew she wouldn't understand most of this. But she would get an outline. She deserved that much. I couldn't tell her about magic, but I could outline a group of people who isolate themselves from her known society.  
  
"I left that world and gave up on it. Most assumed me dead--others knew better. Too much grief, too many endless cycles. I couldn't recognize that there were people there who still cared for me. I made myself Oedipus Lee here, hoping to leave behind my past."  
  
I sighed and lapsed into silence. It took so much more effort to finally voice these thoughts I held inside for so long. Janis remained silent, eyes filled with a sadness for something she didn't even fully understand. She was fighting to say something, anything, but couldn't sort her thoughts. Finally she settled on the most obvious question.  
  
"So, Harry Potter is going to return?" She just had to bring up the identity, also.  
  
I tried to avoid the underlying question. "I have to set some things right . . . or at least try. I've run for far too long. I don't know what will come of this: Nothing good, I fear, and I don't dare to hope for anything else."  
  
"You know what I meant." Impossible to play innocent, utterly impossible.  
  
"Harry Potter is dead," I said simply.  
  
"Only to some, you said it yourself. If you're going to return to 'your' world, why keep up this façade?" Damn logic.  
  
I looked away, not wanting to answer that 'Harry Potter' had been just as much so. I had no true identity when taken away from the names I hid behind.  
  
"If you're going to enter cold water, would you rather draw it out painfully slow or just jump in and take all the shock at once?"  
  
I still didn't answer.  
  
She elaborated, "If you return as Oedipus Lee, eventually you'll be connected with you past." Her eyes traveled to my scar. She didn't know how correct she was in believing it to be unique.  
  
"I can't be the person who I was," I muttered, almost to myself.  
  
"Then don't. It's just a name, not your ultimate definition. Don't conform to those expectations that come along with it, whatever they may be. As Oedipus, you would also be putting on an act--and I somehow don't think you'd want that either."  
  
Forsaken logic. Any response I had against it was lost as a recognizable tap came from the window.  
  
Later in the day, an owl arrived at Hogwarts carrying the lost signature of my past self.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Bah on the length but I wanted to update this as it may be a while until my next. Just realized that there's less than a month before school starts and there's a lot of crap I need to do - mainly finding out what colleges I'm going to apply to, and doing all that stuff I promised myself I would before I'm forced into my senior year (Kennywood, forking yards, actually having a bit of a social life . . .). Also, a warning that when the inevitable end of summer comes, I may completely disappear for large quantities of time as I'm taking 4 AP classes and will have a study hall only with a bit of luck. ::shudders:: Eh, but I'm sure you don't need to know all that . . . :-)  
  
Eternal thanks and supplies of Frooties to all the reviewers.  
  
Special thanks to Em, who (I don't think) even knows about this fic. 


	5. Shades of Gray

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 5: Shades of Gray  
  
~*~*~  
  
I sat in the back corner of The Leaky Cauldron, gently sipping on a Butterbeer. How I had forgotten its warming texture, able to penetrate through to my clouded soul. Though I remembered the taste, the present sensations were lost on me as my eyes wandered around the inn. The array of patrons saw nothing unusual as they passed by me. Like the Hag in another corner, these dark beings were nothing of consequence to them.  
  
I listened to the mindless chatter surrounding me, picking up on what I had missed in my prolonged absence. At the bar a group of ministry workers talked loudly of how the Death Eaters would soon by caught. I scoffed mildly at their blind faith before canceling them out; they were of no importance.  
  
Teenagers united at some tables, recapping on their summers and lamenting that only one week was left until the start of term. One table was even placing bets on the abnormality of this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. A blond-haired girl was adamant that, after last year's part- Veela fiasco, they would be graced with a half-vampire. Little did they know. The adamant rumors of Snape's vampiric heritage must have died down.  
  
I would often hear the name "Harry Potter" spoken in passing. Some would refer to it in awe, others in wariness. Always, though, it was used to express the extremes. I picked up on these conversations and soon found what the Boy Who Lived had come to be.  
  
Harry Potter's scar had not in the least been forgotten. Or maybe the scar, itself, truly had been lost. What remained now was no more than a fabricated legend filled with mystery intended for children's bedtime stories and a drunk's ramblings. Apparently, some went so far as to call Lord Voldemort and I the same being, and my scar was to be the same magical source as his controlling Dark Mark. Others told of my noble death, a sacrifice from a boy who had already sacrificed too much. And no matter how widely the references varied, they were all as misjudged and wrong. I was not pure -- in evil or in good -- rather a combination that neither side could comprehend. Gray is still a color unknown to them. In the end, though, I couldn't blame them for all the errors in judgement and in fact -- I alone was privy to most of the truthful knowledge on the subject.  
  
The legend of Harry Potter would never be lost. But as they talked about the legend, the living being drank unnoticed right in front of them. The telltale mark of their savior was hidden behind only a veil of dark hair. If they cared to notice it I would be found, but no one gave a second glance. They had all lost hope in my returning, as I was no longer sought out. I was grateful for that at the moment, and enjoyed the peace surrounding me. If they possessed the hope of my return and looked for my face among those in the streets, I would not have been in so quiet an atmosphere. I couldn't help but wonder when my anonymity would end. It wouldn't be long until my name again graced the Daily Prophet with a recent photo and bouts of endless speculation to accompany it. A week, at the most, for that was when my new position would be announced.  
  
I finished the last of my Butterbeer as a midday rush began to fill the inn. I had yet to receive even a double take, but I was still uneasy of the large crowd. Too many eyes to notice me without mine first seeing them. It was time to get on with my necessary trip to Diagon Alley. I wove my way to the back entrance, still remaining unseen in plain sight. I savored the moment, soon all similar ones in the wizarding world would be denied to me.  
  
Just as I tapped the brick to enter Diagon Alley, a witch came out of The Leaky Cauldron and followed me as I walked into the Alley beyond without saying a word. I felt her eyes on my back and tensed, apparently I had not gone as unnoticed as I previously believed. As the brick wall swirled closed behind us, I turned to face her and put my hand instinctively to my belt, resting it on my wand. Her eyes darted quickly down to note the action.  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized, raising her hands slowly in defense. She was nervous, yet determined to follow through with her suspicions. "But you remind me of someone . . . " She trailed off in uncertainty, studying my face for any sign of the person she had once known.  
  
I raised an eyebrow in mock curiosity, a gesture adapted from my vampiric professor, inwardly cursing myself for thinking that *none* had cared to look a second time. I had changed, yes, but I was still the same initial person. Most likely she did know my picture, but I wasn't about to shout my name. Not just yet, at any rate. I wanted this week to be without those prejudices that came with that.  
  
I took my hand off my wand and looked at the witch, faking an attempt at recognition. She lowered her hands at my movement, and I realized that she, too, had been reaching for the wand concealed in an inner pocket of her cloak. Obviously, she, too, remembered the time where practical defense was necessary for survival. Her hair, pulled back into a tight bun was reminiscent of McGonagall's, making her look older than her true age, but she could not be any older than I. And as my eyes met her's, realization hit.  
  
"Hermione?" I asked in disbelief. All pretence of lying failing me.  
  
Before I had time to fully register that fact, a hand slapped me across the face.  
  
"Five years!" Hermione tried to tell in indignation, but relief spread through. Her sense of insecurity had definitely been lost at my indirect confirmation. "Five years, and not a single word! Absolutely nothing! Nothing from Snape, Remus -- even Dumbledore! For all I knew you were dea-- "  
  
She choked on the last word, her emotions radiating off it. She could not relive all the doubts that had plagued her. For five years, she hadn't known my fate. For five years, I was all but dead to her -- dead to all of them. I had already felt the guilt that she tried to invoke; it kept me awake on those nights as much as any physical pain or haunting memories. Guilt for the suffering I caused in others. And before I recovered from her sharp smack, she pulled me into a tight embrace.  
  
"Don't you *ever* leave me again, Harry." Filled with an overwhelming relief, and a lingering, repressed anger.  
  
When she finally pulled away, she was wiping away tears. I kept my emotions hidden, allowing only a smile through. I had missed her, yes. Leaving her had perhaps been the hardest of those left, but I had been consumed too much by my own inner battle. And so, over the years, I had forgotten that she indeed felt so much. Now, seeing her again after denying my inner feelings, I didn't want to have to face them.  
  
So we walked in silence for a bit as I went first to Gringotts and then we began out shopping, neither knowing where or with what to start. Eventually, she talked about her job as an editor for Obscurus Books and attempts at fighting part-human legislation with the ministry. S.P.E.W. had long since been abandoned; the Society for Equality Among Beings had since taken its place. Though, her main problems lied within the years of instilled prejudices surrounding those beings. She was fighting with the morals of the wizarding world that would never understand a beast with human traits just as it would never understand the concept of gray.  
  
She was passionate of it, if nothing else. Yet, in the end, I was lost in her explanations and merely resorted to listening tot he voice and not the words. As we walked out of Madam Malkin's, she lapsed into silence.  
  
"I know you're not at all interested in this." At her questioning look, I knew I couldn't remain silent for much longer.  
  
"I like to hear you talk."  
  
She smiled. "Oh, very smooth."  
  
Both needing a rest, we sat down at Florean Fortescue's and with some prompting I finally explained with as little detail possible what I should have long since told her.  
  
At least Hermione had gotten past the anger stage quickly. After my little sum up she still craved details, but didn't ask for them. I thanked her for that. There were some things that even I did not want to know and which I would not subject upon her. I knew, at any rate, I would have to tell Dumbledore eventually, but I would deal with that on a different day.  
  
Instead of the past, I steered the conversation towards my current position. Hermione was more than delighted.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Later, I left Hermione in Flourish and Blott's after arranging for a small collection of Dark Arts and Defense Against the Dark Arts books to be sent to Hogwarts and walked farther down the Alley. The outside of number 93 remained nearly the same as it had the last time I saw it. A yellow sign hung in the window proclaiming "Annual Sale: 15% off Mayhem Merchandise." I walked under the simple "WWW" above the door as I entered the shop.  
  
A bang greeted my entrance, but the three inside gave it no heed. Nor did they take notice when a slight stream of purple smoke came from under the door to the back room. Fred say on the counter, advising the two girls on the best was to release the "Deflagration Deluxe" fireworks set. He talked animatedly of setting it off inside Hogwarts in his last year.  
  
I scanned the shelves of the Mayhem Merchandise. Skiving Snackboxes took up a large section. I made a note that these would now be my enemies with an ironic smile. So many times had they saved me in the past.  
  
"Hey, Fred!"  
  
I looked up from the yell, slightly on edge. I had yet to think through what to tell them, how to break that mounting silence, how to tell them that I was still alive. Obviously, I would be recognized at some point, but I was hoping to play with them a bit before such. Unnerved, I saw that the two girls had left and Fred had been watching me with a wary eye. No doubt I did look rather suspicious. What dark-looking wizard would smile so serenely at the latest in skiving classes?  
  
My eyes met Fred's, but any awkwardness was cut short when George's voice once again yelled from the back room.  
  
"I've got a slight problem back here!" There was sarcasm in his voice, making it clear that the problem was quite more than just "slight."  
  
Fred rolled his eyes, as he turned around to answer the door. "Are you bleeding?" he asked without a trace of concern.  
  
"No, but --"  
  
"Then it's not a problem!" With a growl, he turned back towards me.  
  
George didn't answer and Fred gave me a grin of triumph before it quickly faded. His shop thrived on regulars, traditionally Hogwarts students, and I was an unknown entity. He had yet to know my purposes, but was right in expecting that they went beyond his normal patrons. As I registered this concern, I also registered on how I could play with him.  
  
"Looking for something particular, sir?" I smiled at the question. Never did I believe that Fred would call me (or anyone, for that matter) "sir," let alone with that much seriousness.  
  
"Yes," I said, turning away from the Snackboxes and wandering over towards him. "Do you still carry Extendable Ears?"  
  
My question rang in the shop. The twins had never released the Extendables in their shop, preferring to keep them an Order secret. Likely, the product had been lost with many of the other Order specialties. A look of surprise crossed Fred's face before it was quickly masked.  
  
"Extendable Ears?" He questioned. "I don't remember those. Perhaps if you recall where you heard of them?"  
  
I hid my smile at his concern. No doubt if I left right now, an owl to Dumbledore would be soon on its way. I cursed myself slightly for tossing myself to this already, but there was no avoiding the inevitable now.  
  
"Oh, it was a while ago. Never mind, I didn't think you'd still have them." Taking one last breath, I sealed my discovery, "With all these products, it must be easy to forget some, especially one that was kept within the Order."  
  
Fred's face was definitely one worth seeing. I silenced the voice that said I was being cruel. These people were still on the edge, unsure of whether the battle is over or just at a stalemate. But remembering all the jokes the twins put me through, this payback evened the score somewhat, sadistic as it may be.  
  
"Do I know you?" Fred asked.  
  
Before I had a chance to answer, though, George's voice filtered again through the back room in a rant of frustration.  
  
"I can't do this! We've been working on the map for six months now, and I still fall into the same pitfalls! The traditional labeling spell doesn't work, but something must . . . They were able to get it to work inside Hogwarts, even, so the shop should be simple! I thought I had it with the potion, but that only made these random dots come and have everything reading 'H. Potter' and that couldn't possibly be. . . "  
  
George had finally come into sight, slamming the door open and pushing a large parchment onto the counter. His rant trailed off as he caught sight of me. " . . . Be exactly right," he finished as he regained control of his voice.  
  
Fred looked from his twin to me in disbelief, his jaw dropping. "Harry?"  
  
"Yes." I answered simply. I don't think I had ever seen their mouths open so wide.  
  
George seemed to be in a permanent state of shock, but Fred quickly pulled himself back.  
  
"You prat! Do you have any idea . . . Extendable Ears . . . the Order . . . " He began to mutter incoherently.  
  
At my grin, he stopped himself and began to shake his head in disbelief.  
  
"Well, you deserve it for the Hell you'll be indirectly responsible for this year." I motioned towards the Mayhem Merchandise.  
  
George seemed to be in a permanent state of shock, but Fred was quick to pick up on my statement.  
  
"You'll be at Hogwarts?" A light of comprehension flickered in his eyes. "Not *teaching*?"  
  
Grimacing, I nodded.  
  
"You know, then, we really shouldn't be talking to you," he said, grinning. "Consorting with the enemy and all that."  
  
"Well, actually I was sort of hoping you could give me some inside help."  
  
This eminent danger seemed to snap George out of his shock. "Traitor!" He pointed his finger at me accusingly.  
  
I raised my hands in defense from his finger. "Only to help keep my own sanity, nothing more. Let the others suffer."  
  
George looked at me with a disbelieving raised eyebrow. But Fred's attention was diverted slightly to my right hand before he caught himself and mimicked George's look.  
  
"What if I told you that Lupin can help you with your map problems?"  
  
Their looks continued with indifference.  
  
"I solemnly swear, I am up to no good."  
  
Identical, devious grins smiled at me.  
  
"Its scary when you both do that."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: am sincerely sorry for the delay in posting this. (Real life decided to actually exist at the exact moment when I have no time for it.) And for the lack of actual plottedness going on. I meant to get him to Hogwarts... but somehow Hermione suddenly appeared... I still don't quite know how that managed to happen. Anyways, also apologize for the inevitable typos, but I had to retype the whole chapter as my disk was damaged... perhaps I'll edit it sometime, don't quite know yet.  
  
Next Chapter: Hogwarts, DD, a bit of plot. Don't expect it to be posted for a while, yet. 


	6. Home

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 6: Home  
  
Posted: 11/16/03 Re-posted: 11/24/03 ~*~*~  
  
~April 1997 (6th year)~  
  
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . *  
  
The prophecy's lines have haunted me since I first heard them. Nearly two years from the fact, they ring now as clear as they had when I heard them in Dumbledore's office.  
  
* . . . The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . . *  
  
I jerk out of my absent-mindedness as I hit the dungeon floor, hard. Snape stands above me, twirling his wand in a way I've come to see as disappointment. Like always, he does not offer me help up. I wonder, not for the first time, why Dumbledore entrusts me to Snape's training. Surely he has a reason, but I am still unable to direct my thoughts towards it.  
  
Whatever the reasons, I've spent three days a week with Snape since the beginning of my sixth year. One day given to Occlumency, one to countercurses . . . and the third dedicated towards the curses themselves. At first I struggled against this reasoning. Curses? I was too high minded in the black and whiteness of the world to study that which I was fighting against. Needless, I finally set to questioning my belief system after the death of Ron. He sacrificed himself, and something snapped inside of me, a cord of reality that I had never even felt the presence of.  
  
After a long month of dread I finally emerged stronger for my struggles. I questioned my beliefs, found that there is, indeed, that gray area, and with that revelation the world took on a whole unfamiliar array of colors.  
  
I woke up one day, to see the world with that different view, and found myself to be claustrophobic in the Great Hall. All those students, every single one of them, had no idea what happened outside of these walls. All of them still held obstructed views of reality, and none that knew differently saw fit to tell them otherwise. A stereotyping Slytherin curse from Ginny finally tipped me over the edge of feasible thoughts and I rushed from the Hall, unable to control my emotions that freely ran from my body. Snape always calls them my greatest weakness, but I . . . I cherish them as my greatest strength: they remind me that I am still human.  
  
It was Snape who found me that night, sitting in the astronomy tower, trying to make some sense of these new revelations, trying to force my emotions into the way things used to be . . . a way which was forever gone. The world was not divided in lines of black and white anymore. There was no good and evil, nor any right and wrong. And somehow, without saying a word, Snape became more of a human that night and less of the purely evil Potions Master that joyed in taunting Neville. No spirit can be inherently good or inherently evil.  
  
Snape, of all the wizards in the school, had also come to terms with this. It was that night, when he led me down from the astronomy tower, not saying a word, not taunting me for being out of bounds, not scathing me, but, most of all: not offering any false consolations that were so freely given off the lips of others. . . . It was that night that my respect for him came.  
  
It was also then that I understood the reason for studying curses. For the power of the curse lay not in itself, but in the intentions of the caster.  
  
*. . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . *  
  
But, understanding the reasons behind studying and actually studying are two separate concepts. And so, I currently kneel on the dungeon floor, trying to catch my breath, as Snape stands poised, twirling his wand in disappointment.  
  
"What happened?" Snape's cold voice rings through my thoughts, his calculating method of teaching me defense. With the underlying question: 'What did you do wrong this time?'  
  
I shake my head, trying to clear it, running the events through. My mind has been wandering all day, lack of sleep taxing my mentality and the words from the prophecy endlessly echoing. What actually *had* happened? The drill was simple enough: curse Snape. Hell, put like that it should be fun . . . if it weren't for his damn shields.  
  
"Distracted," I say, finally rising, as Snape looms, bidding for a quick solution to my problem. I'm not about to go in depth to say what I was actually thinking of: that damned prophecy.  
  
"No, Potter. As far away as your small mental capacity may be tonight, that infliction was not of your own derivation. Just like your father, so ready to believe everything is in direct influence of your own actions. You take the griever's fault--"  
  
If Snape has taken to learn anything of me, it is that he can get a rise easily by bringing up my father. But tonight, I am not taking his mental games. Tonight, I do not want to play along with his calculated equation. "You would take care to note that I am not my father," I interrupt him. My voice is calm, an eerie resemblance to the quiet anger that he also possesses. It's slightly frightening, how during these lessons I've begun to unconsciously pick up some of his traits.  
  
"You are right: you are not your father. He, at least, possessed a mediocre amount of skill to support his arrogance."  
  
Defeated, I shake my head. He still does not understand. I neither wanted nor asked for this to be placed on my shoulders. Yet, I sit here and know that the wizarding world has placed all their hopes in me. Snape was right, I have no extraordinary skills, I possess no overwhelming intelligence.  
  
*. . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord . . . *  
  
But what "power?" What is this magnificent weapon that I am supposed to yield against the man who lurks in the shadows of my waking dreams, whose face is one wrought from children's nightmares? I hold no ultimate power. Yet, still, people place their trust in me.  
  
Snape leers at me, as I stare off into the shadows. Well, not all people. At least there is one man who believes there to be nothing special in this Boy-Who-Lived. With that thought, I came back to the lesson with my full concentration.  
  
"Thank you," I say, looking him in the eye. He looks confused, but I don't care to explain father. I need someone there to not place any trust in me. . . .  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A carriage awaited me when I apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade the next morning. The Thestral pulling it reminded me too much of what I had tried to run away from, telling me in its silence that I had never succeeded in escape. As the carriage pulled onto the grounds, I felt the power radiating off of them. Raw magical power, that I had not been attuned to before, perhaps because I had been too used to its presence. I connected with it now as the castle appeared before me, and those dark windows brought on a word that I had not dared to associate with any other place but this: Home. I was finally home. The magic pleasantly greeted me, surged through my brains, and I let out a breathe I had not been aware of holding.  
  
The carriage stopped all too soon for my nerves. I sighed, half in desire and half in anguish. My home, yes, but I had also forsaken it. Yet, this was not the same place as it was before. Hogwarts was not still filled with the warmth and isolation from my youth, rather it was quite the opposite. By entering this building, I was giving up any isolation that I now possessed. But, then again, that wasn't any different than the decision I made when I first entered these walls. Perhaps Hogwarts had remained as unchanged as it was in my mind. It was myself, now, that held a new perspective.  
  
Despite my hesitations, I couldn't find any regret in my decision to return. My home still, indifferent to the time and motivations, Hogwarts remained to be. With one final glimpse towards the high turrets of the castle, I emerged from the carriage. It was indeed time to give up my freedom and return to the world that I was an inherent part of.  
  
Dumbledore awaited me in the Entrance Hall. The twinkle in his eye still defying any ailments of age. Along with his school, he remained resilient to the years. Though he had manipulated me into this, I found that in his presence I was powerless to hold any grudge or raise any complaints. And at his warm greeting I knew his heart held no ill desires.  
  
As we walked up the stone steps, the portraits looked on curiously.  
  
Dumbledore talked on about a topic that I hadn't quite grasped. I heard the words, but they didn't pass on to comprehension. I merely walked, in awe of the stones surrounding me and the moving paintings that I had nearly forgotten about. Diagon Alley had brought back many memories, but none so striking as the halls of Hogwarts.  
  
I stared dejectedly at the paintings as I passed, my eyes connected with a portrait that brought back vivid memories of isolation, Violet, the wizened witch who looked on as I was named the Fourth Champion. She looked into my green eyes, gasped dramatically, jumped back in her frame, and without a polite word to me scurried off. I could see her running down the hall through neighboring paintings headed in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. So much for secrecy, within five minutes the gossip had already begun.  
  
Hogwarts remained the same as always as we took a short cut that led towards the Defense hall. The walls carried the whisperings of the past, to feint to be properly heard but still insistent on my ears. The Gray Lady passed, a timeless beauty, saying nothing to us as she remained lost in her forlorn grief.  
  
"Harry?" Dumbledore was staring at me, concern apparent.  
  
I came crashing back to the world at hand, my fantasies of a past Hogwarts left behind in the shadows. "Yes?" I asked with a bit of Snape-ish touch.  
  
"I suggested that Poppy look at --"  
  
"It's nothing," I cut him off, nervously twitching my hand. I would not have magic fiddle with my lost fingers. I did not want to yet deal with that part of my past nor did I want to take chances with unknown levels of magic.  
  
"Surely there can be something done." Damn that twinkle. If he had not been standing there, I would surely have scoffed off his concern as curiosity, but that twinkle showed no sign of personal want. My mentor's ever-telling eyes showed only concern for me.  
  
"It was a small blood price," I said shortly. "It would not be wise to meddle with settled bargains."  
  
I knew he meant well, but I did not want to wake these demons so early in the day. They were meant to live only in the shadows, and I did not want to pull them up. Perhaps eventually I would have to, but not quite yet.  
  
Dumbledore nodded his head in understanding to my wants. As manipulative as he was, he would not argue needlessly.  
  
He stopped suddenly and turned to the obsidian statue of a Hebridean Black. The Defense hall lay around the corner, but as a student I had rarely come this way.  
  
"Mephistopheles." Dumbledore said, and the dragon jumped aside revealing a door that was not listed on the Marauder's Map.  
  
I refused to take in the irony of the password, as I entered the room.  
  
"I'll leave you to sort your things. There's a staff meeting at one, I trust you'll be there." Before I could reply, he was out the door.  
  
Sighing, I skimmed over the quarters. I stood in a sitting room, decorated in red and gold. I cringed at the colors, bereft of any house pride. The rifts between houses had nearly become our downfall, as the sorting hat had warned. I thought of changing them, but that was pulled from my mind as my eyes wandered to the twin trunks lying in the next room. One I had bought in Diagon Alley only yesterday, but the battered edges of the other struck a recognition deep inside. My old trunk that I had left at Hogwarts and forgotten the existence of had apparently remained in Dumbledore's hold.  
  
I bent next to the trunk and opened it. Slowly, deliberately, taking in the musty smell of time, I looked down into my past. The rush of memories that hit me were not born of darkness for once, they held no connection to my sleepless nights. Rather, they told of the bittersweet sunrises over Hogwarts and my enchanting dreams.  
  
Despite all the paths I had taken and all my sleepless nights, all my wanderings and all my doubts, Hogwarts remained, indeed, my home.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: This was written mostly while listening to large amounts of Nickelback, so forgive if my current obsession shows through at all. I'm not to secure about the first part, I feel I may have killed Snape. Course, I fear that I killed DD too. . . .  
  
This is really only half of what I wanted in this chapter, but I've had this part done for a while and I wanted to post this weekend. The rest will come eventually. . .  
  
Remember that "real life" I mentioned last chapter that suddenly showed up? Well, it decided to disappear and shred itself into oblivion. . . . little tiny bits of oblivion . . . Twice. ::shakes head:: Never fall in love, its easier that way. . . . Anyways, its made me think about this fic more (though it may not seem that was, as this chapter's long overdue) and I've finally decided that this will NOT be romantic whatsoever. (Based on a combination of recent experiences and what I want to do with the plot) So that HP/SS possibility I mentioned at the beginning is gone (as is any HP/RL that may have popped up). This is definite. My sincere apologies to anyone that was reading this just to see Harry get it on with someone.  
  
And cake to all the reviewers. :-) A big yummy chocolate cake.  
  
Re-A/N: just fixed the parts I didn't much like. Nothing major, just flows a bit better now. Next chapter's partly written but I don't know how much time I'm gonna get to work on it. (Shhhh . . . I should be studying now) 


	7. One Path

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 7: One Path  
  
Posted: 11/30/03  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Lupin greeted me as I followed the Headmaster into his office. The staff meeting had gone reasonably well, my introduction met only by a moment of surprise, confirming my suspicion that Dumbledore had alluded to my identity beforehand.  
  
Afterwards, I had followed Dumbledore immediately out of the staff room, avoiding any of the inevitable personal confrontations. They would eventually have to occur, and perhaps delay was not for the best in this matter, but facing the judgements of my past I was not quite prepared for yet. I had to show them my untainted and unveiled self, and perhaps I was afraid of how they would see me, or -- more specifically -- what they would see me as. If their opinions of me lay in either of the rumored extremes, hate or reverence . . .  
  
I shook the possibility from my mind for the time being, sitting opposite Dumbledore and beside the last Marauder, surrounded by the portraits of Hogwarts's past. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye rested my pangs of worry: the professors knew me as human, if nothing else; they would not be prone to those judgements.  
  
With a twinge of memory, my eyes laid upon Fawks, perched upon the spindly table of delicate instruments, all with a matching delicate purpose, but none of them known save by the owner. The headmaster's office remained nearly the same; the passage of time only displayed by his acquiring of some newer devices and the tarnishing of others.  
  
"As you well know, Harry, some Death Eaters still allude the Ministry." Dumbledore began with the obvious. No need for formalities here.  
  
"And some deaths still allude its detection." I added with a bitter tongue.  
  
Remus, apparently, had thought down that same path many times over. "We can bring light to Sirius by taking down his supposed cohorts."  
  
A surrealistic quality swept over me as my sense traveled back to the Order councils of my seventh year. The tone of war remained the same -- and, indeed, these were the ends of that war which were never tied. The only difference lay in the lack of despair and utter hopelessness. No urgency was hidden in the recesses of our words. There was no hidden panic here, no tempers threatening to break from the pressure.  
  
"Alive and under Veritaserum they can testify for Sirius. Pettigrew brings innocence, and Lestrange--life. There are others, but those two matter most." Dumbledore brought me back to the situation at hand.  
  
"And we can succeed where the Aurors have failed?" Now was time to hear of Dumbledore's plan.  
  
"You know, Harry, that they best wizards are not on the Ministry's payroll. But, yes, *you* have the power to succeed."  
  
At Dumbledore's choice of words, I rested my forehead on my hand, shaking it back and forth. A bitter laugh escaped me and I murmured the line of my distress, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord." The power had, once again, been bestowed onto me.  
  
"Yes, you have that power. But now you also have His. You feel it, in your blood, clenching your soul -- I can see it in your eyes and Hogwarts's walls can sense it. When Voldemort died, his darkness was absorbed into you"  
  
The portraits surrounding me stirred slightly, but none dared to wake up from their feigned sleep.  
  
"I fail to see how that can help." I said shortly. I knew his suggestion, but I did not want to understand it. The possibilities stretched too far and I did not want to face them.  
  
"With that darkness, you fully took in his powers, pertinently that of his Master Dark Mark -- the ability to locate and summon his Death Eaters."  
  
"But to use that power . . ." I trailed off, not wanting to voice what I must do.  
  
Remus finished the unfinished, "You would have to take on his essence, his shadows, release yourself to the darkness that surrounds you and let it take over your soul. Essentially, you must merge with it. A frightening aspect, I know, for I can feel the werewolf inside me howl in the night. Monthly, I must surrender to it."  
  
He faltered for a moment, regaining his composure before looking at me with newfound vigor. "You, Harry, can control this power. Otherwise, the fates would not have given it to you."  
  
"Hogwarts will also help you in your control, if you allow her to." Dumbledore assured, but his assurance washed over me, holding no hope.  
  
What they proposed now, I had forced away for five years. To just surrender to the power I fought against now? Did I have the will to contain it and bring it under my control? Through these years, I've doubted and told myself that I do not. But they talked now as if it were fait accompli.  
  
I shook my head against the ideas. "I can't do that, Headmaster. I fear, if I released it, that it would take power over me, and I will be lost in it."  
  
Dumbledore, in turn, shook his head. "You've been suppressing this for too long. And so long as it clenches without admittance, it will drain you." He leveled my with a stare of seriousness, his twinkle gone. "If you do not take in the Dark, bring it under your control, it will eventually consume your essence. I can see it now in your eyes: This weighs far beyond saving Sirius's memory and bringing unfound justice; this reaches to the salvation of your sanity and of your soul."  
  
"I'm sorry, but what you ask . . . what you ask of me, I cannot -"  
  
"But you must. Eventually a conclusion must come to this unseen battle. If you take the precursor to ending it, only then can you triumph."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Much later, I left the castle, lost in thought. Too lost, as Remus followed me without my detection until I reached the lake. Turning around, I saw him and shrugged, resigning my solitary peace.  
  
"He's merely telling what needs to be told." Remus voice broke through the silence as he fell into step beside me.  
  
I sighed, not wanting to talk on the matter any more. "Does he have to be so blunt about it? I've spent this time trying to forge my own choices, and now all the choices I have are one."  
  
Remus shook his head against my words. "You went through that turmoil with the Lost Prophecy before, Harry. Don't put yourself through it again. Fate's ruled your life since before your birth, as it rules us all. But you still have choices in the matter, as you had before."  
  
"What choice is left to me?" I scoffed. There was only one path I could tread. One path left open that I had to walk eventually. "I see only one option here."  
  
"You've chosen to care. You choose to fight. Otherwise, you could just let his Darkness take you and not oppose it. But you choose otherwise."  
  
I looked away, towards the sunset across the lake. The sky lit up with the last brilliant light. So beautiful, yet I could not see any beauty here, I could only see the coming of the night and the nightmares it would bring.  
  
Remus's voice broke my reverie again, "You choose to fight. Though you may not see it, you still hold free will. Though Fate rules, you guide it."  
  
We watched in silence as the sun's last rays descended and darkness finally came. Remus sighed next to me and I suppressed a shiver up my spine.  
  
"I know it seems impossible, Harry. But it can be controlled."  
  
The "it" he spoke of was not that the same of which I battled. Remus's darkness, his werewolf, was not the same as Voldemort's. Yet, I was forced to admit that Remus's acceptance of his inner demon held similar attributes to what I now faced.  
  
I turned away from the darkened sky, back towards the castle. "Thank you." I whispered to the night. It was directed towards Remus, but whether he heard it I did not care to know.  
  
All my reasoning pointed to only one final decision: to accept and control the Dark that I had suppressed for so long. It clenched around my heart still, flowing through my veins. And I remained afraid of it, of its power and of what it could do to me. But, mostly, I feared how, in my attempt to control it, it may control me. And I was paralyzed by that fear. I knew what had to be done, but I did not have the will to walk that path. So, I faltered and I delayed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Not nearly as long as I would have liked it, but I promised myself that I'd update this weekend. I reposted the last chapter a bit ago. No major changes, just some typos mainly. Concerns: The "choice" thing, portrayal of DD and Remus, portrayal of the situation as a whole  
  
Current musical obsession: Return of the King soundtrack. (must see the movie)  
  
:-) Very big thanks and chocolate chips to the reviewers for last chapter: Zazz, APMOM, Kristine Thorne (Agreed: I like 6 the best so far, especially after the repost), John (3:1 maybe. Glad to find another Nickelback fan), Lady Lightning (sorry for the temp misspelling) 


	8. Howling Infinite

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 8: Howling Infinite  
  
Posted: 12/22/03  
  
"But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth . . . so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!" -Herman Melville*  
  
~*~*~  
  
My sanity. I had never thought of it in such terms. Now, it always seemed lost to me, but really, I could control my mind and my thoughts. Though suffering mild confusion at times, I knew a reality and the line between sleeping and wake. The voices, I kept them at bay. And the shadows, though holding images, never came to life. Perhaps I could properly utilize a psychiatrist at times, yet nothing so extreme as insanity.  
  
Directly after the fulfillment of the prophecy I suffered those delusions and hallucinations. I don't deny that I knew insanity then. Or, rather, I knew nothing and everything simultaneously. I screamed into the night, and my emotions knew no bounds. The shadows attacked and the voices never ceased to serenade me. But Oedipus pulled me out of that ravine which I only now glimpsed. The aspect of descending again was enough make my blood run cold.  
  
There were times, in that burning darkness of night, where I felt insanity would be a better choice than the surrounding harshness. It would be so much more peaceful than the fight I kept up day by day. Somehow, though, the sun always rose, bringing with it a clear new dawn and new hope in the crimson lights.  
  
But the dawn was late tonight.  
  
Wandering the halls of my past distorted any semblance of time, and my emotions ran free from my control. An emptiness pushed on me as I tread a lonely path. That emptiness, so painful yet so numbing. Amazing, how I could feel such contradictions, and they seared all the sharper as I treaded the dim halls.  
  
They whispered to me still, these halls, straining to tell me their secrets. Yet, the more I concentrated on the murmurs, the more indistinguishable they became. The more they retreated into the ageless stone. Ungraspable, ever on the edge of my consciousness.  
  
I walked the halls, trailing these unheard secrets, pushing away the emptiness inside my soul. The Gray Lady passed as she had before, a phantom appearing out of the darkness. My concentration snapped away from the whispers as I looked on her form. She paid no heed to the intruder in her private domain; her empty eyes focused on the forgotten past. Her beauty caught in a forgotten age. Nameless, among all Hogwarts's ghosts, she held the most darkness in her soul.  
  
I paused as she passed, and watched her form retreat into nothingness. My loneliness slightly lifted, not alone in my despair. Others have felt this pain before me, and though conditions change the pang remains the same. Though no one has looked into my soul, neither have I looked into the souls of others.  
  
I pressed my body against the cold stone, closing my eyes, trying to will the walls to talk again and bid me forward as before. But their entrancements lay beyond recovery. The walls refused my reentrance, ceased their beckoning, and a surreal silence settled inside the halls. The enchantments still lingered; I sensed them just out of sight and hearing, refusing to show themselves now as the night came near to falling.  
  
The sky was lightening outside, the stage between dark and dawn. I could not see it, no windows gave passage to the infinite, but years had given the ability to know the passage of the sun.  
  
I turned quickly, leaving behind the tantalizing murmurs, and made the way I had come through the maze of passages.  
  
Soon I was outside, next to the lake, watching the sunrise over the forest. My fears ebbed slightly; the shadows had passed yet again, as always is their wont.  
  
Dumbledore's words lurked still: "The salvation of your sanity and of your soul."  
  
The dawn, then, would someday not save me from my terrors. Yet, I still found comfort in knowing that a new day rose. There was still hope, forsaken as it seemed. There remained still another chance.  
  
And with that sun, I chose the only path laid down before me. I accepted everything that had to be done; once more I would bow down to the will of fate. Yet, it was not for my own salvation, but for that of Sirius. Though he was gone behind the veil, I could still save his memory.  
  
I had to save his memory . . . if only for Remus and myself. I, alone, had the power to do so.  
  
But . . . I still faltered. Did I have the strength? Would Hogwarts indeed help me? The uncertainty bored into my resolve. And I became lost in the sunrise as I delayed facing any predestination.  
  
A short scoff brought my eyes down from the indefinite sky, brought my thoughts crashing back to reality away from the places I longed and where I could not travel. For I knew that scoff from late night lessons: Snape. I knew his sound of irritation reserved only for when I disturbed his personal domain. It had greeted me when I knocked on his office door every night. Expressed only louder those nights I arrived uninvited, rare as they were.  
  
After the initial jerk, I turned slowly to face him. A vision from the past who would know me the most yet care the least to show any compassion. For that, I did not much mind the intrusion into my waking dreams. He, alone, would offer no false hope and no pleading innocence. Those I did not want nor need.  
  
"Yes?" I asked, no smile present but no scowl surfaced either. He never took to understand the respect I held for him, just as I had never fully searched his motives.  
  
"Your attraction to late night wanderings still persists." His annoyed tone that he seemed to reserve only for my use had not diminished.  
  
I glanced toward the rising sun. No longer did night persist, but the point was still the same. "Yours, as well," I answered, for Snape also shunned sleep. Our reasons nearly the same though neither of us had taken to notice prior, when I needed that person to assure me I was not alone. No matter, though, for that time of loneliness was gone with acceptance. It would serve no purpose for me to have someone understand now.  
  
"I have my reasons." He gestured slightly to the dragon skin pouches in his hand and a scowl fixed on his face. "Soon they'll come with no tolerance, no grace, no respect. I need to have my supplies before they are trampled by the careless who joy at the word 'forbidden.'"  
  
"Your reasons? And I don't have reasons here?" He raised an eyebrow at my question, causing me to smirk. Too many times had I seen and used the expression that its desired effect was lost on me. My smirk served to annoy him only farther.  
  
"None valid that I can comprehend, Professor."  
  
I let out a slight laugh: Professor? I had never expected that to be said without an accompanying sneer. Of course, I had also never expected him to initiate a conversation with the bloody Boy Who Lived. "Well, you never took much to comprehending me."  
  
"As far as I am concerned, his memory can rot with his rashness."  
  
The comment took me back, allowing my mask of indifference to fall. Apparently, Snape could still trick with his words.  
  
"Had I taught you nothing? Muttering into the shadows, telling secrets to any willing to listen?" I noticed, once again, the disappointment showing through. Did he really care? Or was he merely concerned for his own teaching abilities?  
  
I turned away, unable to look into his accusing glare. "You taught me more, Professor, than you can ever know. For, as loath are we both are to admit, we have worn the same through time."  
  
"You would do well never to compare us. Gryffindor and Slytherin remain opposites, as you should remember."  
  
I refused to turn back and face him, becoming lost in the flaming sky once more.  
  
"Goodnight, Potter," Snape said, but I did not hear. Nor did I care to listen to the half-hidden uncharacteristic sigh, nor the slowly retreating steps.  
  
Perhaps one day we could settle those unpaid debts, but I did not allow the sun to penetrate that hope. He was right, we would remain these opposites: Gryffindor and Slytherin. Though our paths were laid so close. At least there was that one certainty in my reality.  
  
One last, fleeting glance toward the heavens before I turned to the castle and traced the path to my rooms, unconsciously seeking that sense of home. That sense of belonging. Though the people may have shunned me, the castle never betrayed. And it responded to my plea. She wrapped her arms around me and lay me beside Morpheus, giving me a peace that even potions could not bestow.  
  
I awoke later by the light of the late afternoon shining through the window. I laid, nearly content, trying to fall once more into the enchantments of the castle and regain my home.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: A random Merry Christmas!  
  
Concern: Snape? Repetition?  
  
*The quote is random for now, but I've been obsessed by "The Lee Shore," a little one page chapter of Moby-Dick and had to put it in cause I'm certain that it's seeped through. I also just love it and didn't want to forget to put it in a later chapter where it may apply more. Kudos to anyone who understands it, though: may seem slightly random out of context and I don't know many other people who obsess over Moby-D.  
  
Current Musical Obsession: Dashboard Confessional  
  
Whipped cream and thanks to the reviewers from last: Lady Lightning, Elise, Kristine Thorne, john, Mikito 


	9. Forbidden Entrance

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 9: Forbidden Entrance  
  
Posted: 1/2/04  
  
"Know ye, now, Bulkington?" - Herman Melville  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I stared at my reflected image, black robes around me. Snapping at the charmed mirror earlier prevented any current comments from it as I did not wish to hear any more remarks on how my long hair managed to "perfectly cover that beautiful scar." All of Hogwarts's mirrors must have personality problems, probably due to its current headmaster.  
  
The clock also possessed a bit too much energy. "You're still early, but leave now for all I care." Damn magical clocks; all I wanted was the time, not inane opinions.  
  
The Welcoming Feast was tonight. Too soon, though the clock proclaimed early. The students, innocents, would soon arrive with their careless nature. I would be revealing myself.  
  
How would they react? To them, what were their pre-ordained opinions on The-Boy-Who-Lived? I had heard rumors in The Leaky Cauldron, endless babble and speculation on my own fate, but that had mainly come from the older populace. Those whose opinions were passed to their children. . . . Everything just came down to an uncertain factor of how much they believed and presumed to know.  
  
And why did I care? I could soon disabuse them of any ideas of my supremacy, possibly even show them an understanding on the gray aspects of the world before they have to discover it for themselves. Maybe, just maybe, I could actually influence. But these possibilities were too positive, too controlling . . . too Dumbledore. I could not change them, just as I could not change the articles in the Daily Prophet.  
  
The Daily Prophet. Oh, tomorrow's issue would be interesting. What speculations would they get from "exclusive reports"?  
  
I sighed, too much speculation. All I had to do was sit there as Dumbledore announced my name and I could do nothing to influence the impending reactions. Whispers, probably, hissed into an eminent silence as if I couldn't hear them. Another sigh.  
  
Twitching, I pulled my hand through my hair, but the preceding slice in my finger did nothing to calm. Jerking my hand away, I pinched the minor womb and took out the offending piece of glass.  
  
Glass?  
  
I scanned the room, and on the dresser lay the shattered remains of a mirror beside its square frame, placed almost reverently on top of a black cloth. Sirius's mirror. I had refused to fix it in my unrelenting grief, instead wrapping it in my cloth and keeping it in my trunk. There it had remained a constant reminder for that which I was so afraid I would forget. Yet, now it was on my dresser, a haunting of my past.  
  
So much for reminders. No memory came to me of his laugh or his infrequent smiles, tarnished by Azkaban. All thoughts of him centered on my final glimpse as he fell through the veil and all my childishness to put him in that position.  
  
They had all tried to tell me it wasn't my fault, but they knew nothing. And I knew even less.  
  
"Reparo." I said with a wave of my wand before any thought crossed my mind at my first time to use magic since I dropped my wand in that graveyard.  
  
I felt his shadows within me, and the darkness surged, feeding off of the magic that stirred within at the utterance of a spell. It constricted around my heart and I gasped for air. Dropping to my knees, I attempted to push it back to the levels I could control but as the internal battle of wills raged my scar suddenly seared with pain. Wand fell from unsteady grip as my hand reached up to massage the scar and I made another attempt to push back the darkness. Yet this attempt yielded another pang which sent me falling into gray clouds and an unintended dreamscape.  
  
I walked the halls of Hogwarts, treading my lonely path as had become my custom within a mere week. Yet, I did not haunt the usual dungeons now; in my dream my steps led me elsewhere in the castle, to a corridor I could not recall somewhere near the Room of Requirement.  
  
I turned the corner, revealing silver stones, ethereal in the moonlight. And the Gray Lady was there, at the end of the hall, silently calling me forward. Her surreal dress flowed around the silent form, refracting silver-gray from the light filtering through the window behind her. I took a step towards her, but then stopped suddenly upon thinking.  
  
She was dead, and the dead do not freely call out to the living. A chill went up my spine and I retreated the few steps I had taken, questioning her with my actions.  
  
The glow seemed to retreat as my will faltered, and the silver in the figure faded to white. The dress stilled its sepulchral dance and she stepped forward into the light of the torch, a woman of flesh. Though still unnatural, still beyond mortal blood.  
  
My head cocked to the side, this beauty before me was the same as that which haunted Hogwarts in eternal grief and she appeared as any human would, but my soul warned me that she remained far from humanity. Slowly, I quelled my fears and stepped forward, the fall of my boot echoing as if the whole castle were quiet save for its solitary clamor.  
  
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, bidding me to continue. Still apprehensive, I approached while she waited, unmoved. Every step resounding off the watchful walls.  
  
Finally, two steps from touching her face to assure me of her presence being more than an apparition, she looked up to me and our eyes met. Or, rather, my eyes met her soul, stirring where her eyes should be. And she spoke to me without words or sounds. In a moment she told me all of her past, gave me all her unwavering reasons for staying bound to these halls. And I would record the whole story down to the very last sigh, putting to history all her woes and losses - if only I could recall her words. But no words were spoken; no sighs ever passed her lips. I knew what she said without her ever saying, and I knew her message though none was contained. And try as I might, I cannot convey that knowledge passed to me, now wavering on the brink of my consciousness, through ink or any other mortal means.  
  
After her eyes passed over me, she turned away and parted the stone of the outer wall, revealing yet another silver corridor. She walked through it, open doors on either end slamming shut as I passed them, following her. My steps made no more noise as we neared the end of this passage where an arch stood covered by a black veil.  
  
The Gray Lady made a motion with her hand, pushing the veil aside without ever touching it.  
  
"We cannot enter here." Her motions conveyed, as she stepped away.  
  
Through the archway lay a vast expanse, with souls teaming through it in a brilliant dance. Steps that never touched the ground, always moving so that I could not discern one dancer from the next. All of them appeared to be living, but, like the Gray Lady, that spark of mortal life did not inhabit them. They passed by the doorway, nameless faces all, though some seemed to strike a familiarity that I could not place.  
  
"They are there, not far away at all, just behind the veil." The Gray Lady had actually spoken, her voice soft yet firm.  
  
I turned away from the arch to face her. "But ever unreachable," I replied with a note of bitterness.  
  
"No," She shook her head at my words, closing the veil with a motion. "One day you will have entrance, but you cannot live while searching for it as I was forced to see."  
  
I turned back to the veil. One day? And when would fate determine that day to be? I wanted that day to be this day, to reach through and become a part of the dance . . . to be able to hear the music that flows through their spirits. I made to step through against her words, but she held me back. "One day," She said again. Voices now began to filter through, just on the edge of my hearing, the same murmurs which had drawn my attention in Hogwarts's halls.  
  
"They will not abandon you, and you will not be forced to the same fate as I," She assured, but sadness filled her eyes. She would ever be forbidden entrance through the veil from a fate weaved with her death, always trapped as a forsaken spirit. Yet, here she talked giving me hope - hope for death so that I may take my chance to live.  
  
A simple door to my right opened. And the Gray Lady once again spoke without speaking. "It is time you return."  
  
Before I could form any coherent thought, I stepped through the door. Yet, there was nothing inside. My muscles spasmed as I fell . . . and woke up on the floor, next to Sirius's repaired mirror.  
  
The Darkness was still there, as it had been before the spell - ever on the edge of consciousness, though it seemed slightly more intrusive into my reality.  
  
Groaning, I pushed myself up and checked the clock on the wall. "You're late . . ." Well, that was helpful.  
  
But I had to check something, first. Preparing myself, I cast a simple levitation charm on the mirror. I felt his shadows pulse, constricting slightly while still remaining within my grasp, perhaps only because I had been prepared for it. I ended the charm quickly, wanting to grasp what exactly had happened. Maybe nothing, Maybe more.  
  
I left it to be dealt with later as I left my rooms, taking several unused shortcuts on my way to the Great Hall. I turned the final corner to glimpse black robes disappearing behind my intended entrance. Apparently I was not the only teacher arriving late. One final breath before I entered, unnoticed, behind the staff table. Most eyes fixed upon the sorting hat and a handful of first years unfortunate enough to have names near the end of the alphabet.  
  
Snape, though, took care to notice as I sat down beside him with a resound snort. I rolled my eyes as he had only sat moments before.  
  
I took fleeting notice of my gray robes, too intent upon what would come to register that they had been black beforehand. I was also too self-absorbed to notice the last of the sorting or Dumbledore's quick welcome before the house elves sent up the food.  
  
But the feast did not last as long as I would have liked, and it disappearance was accompanied by Dumbledore standing. I couldn't listen to the announcements, canceling them out I focused on my own fears. Yet, soon enough the dreaded statement came. " . . . Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Potter."  
  
And it was met by a fractional second of shocked silence before the whispers began, just as I had known would happen.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
"*Harry* Potter?"  
  
"*The* Harry Potter?"  
  
"But he died."  
  
The whispers were not so much concealed as I would have expected them to be. Clearly, I could snatch up the conversations in the array of emotions. Apparently these opinions were of much the same diversity; and they were sadly of much the same cookie cutter style.  
  
" . . . A dark wizard . . ."  
  
" . . . Voldemort himself . . ."  
  
"My mother said . . ."  
  
It would not take me long to disillusion them of those facts taught by their parents. I would merely need to show that both Dark and Light can be found in the same person. Merely. That would most likely end up being the yearlong lesson. Not long at all.  
  
"Killed the Dark Lord . . ."  
  
"Became a Dark Lord, more like it."  
  
Apparently there would be no polite applause coming for this teacher. Dumbledore raised his hands, restoring order as the students took notice of his commanding presence and the chatter died down. A brief note on Quidditch trials, and they were dismissed to their respective common rooms.  
  
As they left, the conversations started up right where they had left off with many glances up towards the staff table. Some did not even care to hide the glances or conceal the emotions contained within. One would think they'd be a bit less obvious with displaying their fears . . . or admirations.  
  
"*The* Harry Potter?" The girl's voice echoed in my mind, reducing me to seem less of a person. Yet, that was my figure in the wizarding world. Or, at least, to half of it: A savior. The Savior. The Harry Potter. My name was my definition. Had a made a mistake in coming back with it? Needless to think of that; there would be no changing it now.  
  
Deep in warding off regretful thoughts, I walked a long way towards the Hebridean Black statue. I took care to note that there was no such thing as that silver corridor near the Room of Requirement.  
  
--It's just a name, not your ultimate definition.-- Janis's words.  
  
Yet they sure pressed it to be.  
  
They gave the name expectations without the thought that I remained to be an actual person. I lost Sirius and could not grieve for the "escaped Death Eater" because I was not expected, and thereby not given the chance, to. I lost Ron and was expected to get over it and quickly so that I could fulfill my purpose of killing Voldemort. I even killed Voldemort and they expected me to not survive.  
  
I didn't survive. Well, *The* Harry Potter didn't, at any rate. Yet, here he tried to stand.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Yay, I got it done before I go back to school and have some actual work to do! Well, I was excited about that . . .  
  
Musical obsession (if you care): Sigur Ros  
  
Thanks and freshly made fudge to the reviewers: Kristine Thorne, snifflesaboutsnuffles, Rathien1, Lady Lightning (Snape will be showing up a bit more), Fujizahra, HoshiHikari4ever, BlackDiva, john 


	10. Tears

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 10: Tears  
  
Posted: 5/21/04  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I used to apologize to the wizarding world. Not that my apologies ever fell upon living ears, but spoken into the lone Hogwarts nights they seemed to at least offer my soul some amount of forgiveness. But that solace was short-lived and never wanted to penetrate into the daylight hours.  
  
Shortly, I stopped whispering the apologies to no one, far from forgiveness. I did not need forgiveness, nor did I deserve it. And why exactly did I want this bitter forgiveness from them? Sure, I was labeled their savior, but no one specific person forced me there, save the being whom I was meant to save them from. How could they be blamed for clutching to a solitary hope and clinging to survival? I would have done the same. Which is why I needed them to know that they were wrong to put any faith in me.  
  
Yet, I remained the Boy Who Lived, where the wizarding world placed all their trust and hope. They took no care to notice my humanity, no thought that I was merely a boy not fit for the task entitled to me; they only cared that I would be their savior.  
  
And I felt like I should apologize to them for their unfound hope in me at the point when I lost hope in myself. An apology because I could not fulfill the purpose that was foretold to be mine. An apology for my inability to perform a task I did not even wish to undertake.  
  
But that time was in my past, no longer did I feel the need to apologize for their own suppositions. I did not need their forgiveness, even if it were suddenly offered to me.  
  
"But he died."  
  
Indeed, he did die. The Harry Potter saved them while none cared to save him. So he did perish in that graveyard – but, I . . . I survived. Harry, just Harry. I weathered the storm, and came out with life still in my veins; for that, they deserved no apology. Or perhaps I was Oedipus, playing with a memory of the past, not Harry quite yet. But did my name matter so, when under it I still remained? No. It merely provided me with the prejudices of the wizarding world, and perhaps from those I could clear "The" from my unwanted title.  
  
Hopeful thinking. Should I not have already realized that hope was forsaken unto me? *The* would always remain, but its context could, perhaps, be changed. As much as I tried to deny it, I couldn't even give up on that blackened hope.  
  
These thoughts coursed through my mind, but still no answer could come from them. They merely plagued my restlessness and made the long Hogwarts' night that much longer.  
  
I walked the halls, hearing those whispers, knowing now to whom the voices belonged. The castle's spirits still eluded me, refused to become clear and tell me their secrets. I knew that trying to hear them would only cause them to retreat farther and cause that ringing in my ears to ring louder. I knew, also, that there would be no benefit in chasing the dead. Yet, I could not break away from their calling; their restlessness permeated into my veins. I put my hand on the cold stone wall and could almost feel their trembling, a faint flicker on the edge of my fingertips.  
  
"Will you just be quiet?" I sighed as I turned the corner. They became stronger then, as if more people had joined the crowd, but none dared to venture forward.  
  
"Stop it!" In desperation, I called towards the shadows.  
  
As the last of the echo traveled down the hall the voices suddenly ceased. A chill went up my spine at the penetrating silence. It felt as if the castle's magic had also retreated along with its dead. The castle had responded to my plea, but I still could not shake off the sense of abandonment. The night, though now silent, seemed much colder.  
  
Reaching inside myself, the darkness still resided. It was not my own, yet it had chosen me as its carrier. In a way, Voldemort had not died that night, not fully at any rate. I contemplated what would happen to accept this bit of him as myself. Would this lead me down the same path as he? Dumbledore, among others, wished me to take that chance. And I, also, knew that it was my only hope. But tonight, I could not grasp it.  
  
Tomorrow I would yet again face the school, now individually. The familiar sense of sunrise came over me, and I turned my steps towards the front doors. Today—Today I would face the school individually.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Andromache Vance spent her lunch in the library. After less than a day of her fellow seventh years, their chatter grated on her hearing. Well, at least she only had Defense Against the Dark Arts left on her Monday schedule. And then the rest of the week, and the rest of the year . . . but that was beside the point. If she made it through the first day, then the rest would follow likewise.  
  
Her N.E.W.T. Defense class should by interesting at any rate. At least she wouldn't have to deal with the hormone-driven males swooning as they entered the classroom, as had happened last year with that incompetent Veela. That episode had caused her to wonder if Dumbledore really was losing his sanity, as the Daily Prophet tended to advertise. This year, she questioned his aging mind even more.  
  
She remembered Harry Potter well enough, though no one else in her year seemed to. When she had arrived at Hogwarts in her first year, she made a point of seeing him and recognizing his scar, excited by the stories of her cousins. Though, she was certain that he had never seen her, she had spied him.  
  
She could never forget the first day she saw him, less than a week into the school year. He sat alone in the library, poring over a book from the restricted section with a large stack next to him. Carefully, she had sat at the table across from him, and he had been too absorbed to notice a Slytherin miming his concentration behind him, let alone a Ravenclaw first year sitting unnaturally close in the large library.  
  
She had tried to concentrate on her Potions homework, but found herself glancing up more and more often, until she finally realized what was wrong. The Boy Who Lived, the very entity of a hero that she had grown up hearing stories of; The Harry Potter sat hunched over a book, head in his hands, tears falling onto the pages. This image so disturbed her that she quickly packed away her books and left for her common room. There she sat next to her fellow housemates, the sight burned in her mind begging to be voice aloud, yet even her first year mind knew that she had spied a piece of Harry Potter that few knew and none could understand. Even Andromache had a hard time accepting that those had been tears falling from his eyes, and she could not understand how such a figure of power could express such emotion. So, she had kept the image to herself, yet every time she had passed Harry Potter in the hall that year it came sharply to mind.  
  
And then came his disappearance two weeks before term ended. She remembered the rumors and she had believed him dead. Dead or irreversible evil, as was told by her Ravenclaw housemates. Nothing else could explain why he didn't return. Yet every time she had thought of Harry Potter being evil she remembered those tears and so she assumed that the other extreme must be true. Harry Potter sacrificed himself in order to save them: A noble deed.  
  
Now that he was obviously still alive, a twinge of fear came. Could there be any truth from those rumors? Yet again, though, the image of teardrops came.  
  
She stared down at the Daily Prophet in front of her proclaiming, "Harry Potter at Hogwarts." The headline was the only piece of the article not interlaced with opinions. She found it amazing that people above twelve could actually consider the wizarding paper to be actual news. And yet . . . If Harry wasn't evil, then why had he left? Why, after Voldemort's second fall, had he not returned to the general populace where he would be considered their hero? Even her Ravenclaw mind could not wrap around any solid conclusion.  
  
The bell rent through her thoughts, and with a jolt, she packed away the Prophet and pushed pass a group of twittering firsties, on her way to Defense. Perhaps there, some answers could be found.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: There should be another scene (the NEWT class), yet I wanted to get this posted this weekend. Numerous reasons account for the horrendous delay, not least of which was a research paper that caused me to shun the sight of a word document. I now have a deadjournal (username whitemudloser) if you have any inclination to know any more of about high school drama.  
  
Musical Obsession: Incubus  
  
Next Chapter: NEWT Defense class, Snape  
  
Thanks and Sunny Saturdays to the reviewers: Aredhel Tasartir, Kelei, EriEka127, john, Andromeda Snape-Malfoy, kears, Amber-and-Ash, Kristine Thorne, SilverKnight7, Lady Lightning, chips challenge 


	11. No Relief without Pain

The Demons Hidden Within  
  
Chapter 11: No Relief without Pain  
  
Posted: 8/1/04  
  
Re-Post 8/4/04 (minor edits)

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I watched from behind my desk as the seventh year N.E.W.T. class filed in. "At least they aren't first years," became my mantra. And, indeed, that was an improvement. The first years had yet to learn the art of hiding expressions. Such it was that earlier in the day I could read the ranges from sheer terror to spell-bound awe.   
  
The disturbing aspect, though, was not in the looks, but in that some could easily and quickly switch between the two extremes without any acknowledgement. A deranged smile came over my face as I remembered the terror of a Hufflepuff that had turned to awe at the sight of my Patronus. (Odd, that I should take pleasure in misleading these children.) The look had not lasted long, though, as the boy made eye contact, gulped, and returned to his previous state. Hopefully, the older students would be a bit less to the extremes, or at least, be less readable.   
  
Indeed, this seemed to be so as I surveyed them entering. But then I was forced to remind myself that this was the last class for the students of what had been a very long and trying first day. They would face any teacher at this time with those looks of utter blankness. Though, as I paid closer attention to them, the faces of wakeful sleep vanished as they remembered just whose classroom they had now entered and just who was staring at them with a rather sadistic smile. Damn it all, apparently my judged thoughts had passed through my mind too soon; the smile passed.   
  
I looked over the four houses that had segregated themselves into the four corners of my classroom; Hufflepuff and Gryffindor (the lighter) in front, Ravenclaw and Slytherin (the darker) behind. House pride persisted even in these small numbers, as it always would no matter what segregation the Sorting Hat warned against. Sure, the students were separated by their characteristics and strengths, but through this they could not learn the necessary traits outside one's own house. For most it would take some time after graduation to learn that there are no definite boundaries – some may never know. From a Ravenclaw girl I saw in the corner surrounded by Slytherins, she may have already discovered.   
  
A standard introduction, nothing exciting, and I'm sure nothing that they hadn't heard in every class so far today. N.E.W.T.s, important exams, deciding future life; advanced magic, very dangerous. They were now considered adults by the Wizarding World, responsible for their own actions on the Ministry's and the school's terms. With the set up, I went towards a darker note, "Though this is Defense Against the Dark Arts, one cannot learn to defend without knowing exactly what to defend against."   
  
At this, most Ravenclaws picked up that something was not quite right. With a nod towards the few students who had surfaced from their stupor, I continued: "Most people only teach the Dark Arts in theory, especially the Advanced Dark Arts; this is what the Ministry approves of. Yet, by that standard, the study of Defense is also diminished and the first time a curse would be seen would be when it mattered. Thus, the first time you must actually defend is when you cannot fail. This practice causes the traditional Defense seventh year N.E.W.T. class is purely theory. Counters and shields are studied, but not put into practice because there would be no one to cast the Curse.   
  
"This class will not be taught traditionally, nor will it be pure theory. Though, I won't directly teach any Dark Arts, you will be learning proper defense techniques and put in situations to utilize them." All of the students had risen from any remaining sleep and stared blankly at me. A few looked as if they wanted to speak up, but quick glances towards their peers diminished any words that were forming.   
  
With a slight smile, I proceeded, "In order to achieve this, an understanding of Dark Arts is necessary. An understanding that cannot be found in books, but one that you must come across by your own thought. An ethical understanding of the Dark Arts: The questionable differences between Dark and Light and the necessity of the balance between the two.   
  
"To end any confusion now, I will not be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will be teaching merely Defense. . . . Defense against any Magic."   
  
At this, my thoughts tried to pull me back into the past. A conversation I had with Remus in the summer before seventh year. The full moon had just passed, and Remus transformed without the assistance of Wolfsbane, Snape having been too busy with the Death Eaters to provide the potion. We sat at the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and his exhaustion had brought on a lethargic conversation: "It took me all my resolve to take that position when Dumbledore approached me, pulled me out of one of my deepest pit. . . . And I had to teach kids Defense Against the DARK ARTS. I had to teach kids how to defend themselves against the very creature that I am—"   
  
I pushed out the memory and continued with the general lesson, in an attempt to explain that there is no explanation for Dark, Light, and the correlations between Evil and Good. Questions were met with minimum involvement, and their fear of an uncertain teacher left most speechless. From this, I was forced to realize that attention had been lost and I was merely speaking to a blank wall – time for the flashy magic.   
  
Casting the Patronus, Prongs galloped around the classroom. Eyes opened to their full width, instead of the half-opened gazes of before; even seventh years were impressed. "The Patronus is above N.E.W.T. level and takes much more concentration than just a swish and words, so you will not be required to learn. But, later in the year, lessons will be offered for those want them." Heads came off hands, and full attention was regained as the stag weaved through the desks.   
  
I allowed the feeling of security from my Patronus to flow, let the students be enveloped by it. "The Patronus is, in its nature, a Light Art used in the defense against Dementors. This is not inherent of its color, rather the energies behind it. To produce this, one must think of a happy memory, in the most general terms. More specifically, when I recite 'Expecto Patronum', the magic feeds of my own positive emotions generated by my happy thought to take on an actual form. The stronger the caster feels and the brighter the memory for source, the more corporeal the Patronus can become.  
  
"Dementors thrive off strong emotions, pulling them out of a person's immediate consciousness and forcing them into a negative state of emotion. Since the Patronus is made of only a strong positive memory and holds no negative energies, a Dementor cannot drive it into submission and the Patronus can defend its castor."   
  
As the stag came towards me, I ended the spell so that it dispersed when I went to touch the form. Scanning the faces of the students, I could see that they were like the first years. Though they had the ability to hide emotions from expressions, they could not close off their eyes nor could they hide the way they now sat with straight backs, no longer leaning on the desk for support. I knew how the simplified thoughts went: "He can't be a Dark Wizard if he casts the Patronus." How very wrong the assumption; at least most didn't think me to be evil.   
  
Hopes dropped for me, but I would take this farther than I had with the other classes and attempt to make them understand that Light and Dark must exist in unison and one cannot exist without the other by using myself as an example. The Dark/Evil correlation I would leave for a later lesson.   
  
"Does anyone know the counter for the Patronus?"   
  
A few shaken heads, bodies slumped back down into the standard uninterested note-taking position. In the back of the room, a single hand wavered from Andromache Vance, the Ravenclaw surrounded by Slytherins.   
  
"Sir, I read that there is no counter."   
  
Her knowledge told me all might not be lost, but I still cringed inwardly. "True, there is no counter that will negate the effects of a corporeal Patronus, like most spells. Yet for every positive there is always a negative. All spells have an opposite in some way. The Light cannot exist without the Dark. In the case of the Patronus, which is a pure Light, the counter is the exact opposite, made of pure Dark."   
  
I raised my wand I brought to mind Sirius and the nights I spent staring at the broken pieces of his mirror, "Sunortap Otcepxe!" A large black dog emerged from my wand. I pushed off the effects on myself while allowing them to permeate the classroom like I had with the Patronus. A shudder ran through, and attention followed the dog as it took the same journey through the desks. The silence was only enhanced by the students who muttered as it passed: "Grim," "Dark Art," "Forbidden."   
  
"The Sunortap is considered irreversible Dark, as Dark as the Patronus is Light. The exact opposite, it is created by a negative emotion – a sad memory.   
  
"Now, there should be a fairly obvious question."   
  
A Gryffindor in front, Thomas Carroll: "How can you produce both?"   
  
"Precisely. These spells are extremely opposite, yet both can be understood by the same principles. Many wizards cannot grasp this because they have restricted themselves to hold only views of white and black. But, the world is not white and black and there is no line between Light and Dark. The world is gray. The shades vary, yes, but it is all of the same substance.   
  
"The same magic is used in the Light and Dark Arts. The same magic is used to defend as is used to attack. And a defense will only be weakened when an attack is not understood."   
  
The Sunortap had finished circling the room, and came towards me. Without blocking the emotions, I held out my hand, and as it touched the black fur, I let it reach inside me.   
Padfoot's spectral image filled me with intense insecurity and uncertainty, the deep sadness that I had not felt since I left the Wizarding world. As I fell into the emotional pain, my scar burned. The same burn I felt when the Death Eaters had been called to meeting, sharp and piercing. Padfoot disappeared as I lost concentration for the spell. Suppressing a gasp, I kept composure enough to assign an essay and dismiss the class.   
  
They quickly packed away and were out the door. Perhaps I hadn't kept composure quite enough. The last student left, Andromache, who looked worriedly over her shoulder towards me as the door closed and I dropped behind my desk.   
  
My hand reached up to push away the hair and massage the ever-present scar. It felt raw, burned black. Eyes, closed against the pain, gave form to the Darkness surrounding; I pushed it back, bringing it once again under my control. The pain subsided, yet I refused still to open my eyes and face the empty classroom. Instead I sat without moving, overwhelmed by my own uncertainties that persisted even though the spectral dog had vanished.   
  
A small creak in the empty classroom brought me back to reality. Snape, arms crossed, stood in the open doorway. He held quite impressive intimidation, now if only I knew what I had done to offend him. He raised his wand, scaring me for a moment, until he pointed it towards the door, forcing it closed. Without words, he came to the desk and rolled up his left sleeve. There, in all its glory, the Dark Mark had again been blackened into his flesh.   
  
"What have you done?" His question was more of a command and attempted to reduce me to one of his ignorant student.   
  
I raised an eyebrow, causing him to sneer. "Do not attempt childish games. It was nearly faded, but since you have returned it has burned twice—before the Welcoming Feast and just now. What have you done?" The question came again, more demanding.   
  
Through all his masks, I could again see his fear. A fear he did all to well to conceal from the Wizarding World. Yet, I knew it was there and I sensed the slight twinge of urgency in his tones. He had trained me for this. With learning Occlumency came just as much knowledge of the counter, Legilimency.   
  
I lifted my hair enough for him to see my scar. By his reaction, it was also the dark shade. "Nothing that I can't control." I tried to remain cool.   
  
"Every remaining Death Eater will have felt this burn, and you believe that you can control this?"   
  
I looked away from him, to prevent any criticism from cutting too deep, "Well, you see, I kind of have to, so I hope I can."   
  
Scoff, "You and hope, Professor, do not go too far." He placed three vials on my desk before he turned to leave.   
  
"Thank you for that reminder, Professor Snape, I nearly forgot," I said to myself as he closed the door.   
  
Curiously, I turned over the potion vials. Two of Dreamless Sleep, a note attached telling me what was already known: To be taken no more than twice monthly. The third was a painkiller.   
  
I contemplated the Sunortap. As Snape had taught me the spell, the understanding of the opposite had created a firmer distinction in the original. Just as one must have hate for love and experience sadness to feel joy.   
  
Letting the thoughts dissipate, I concentrated on the scar's burn and it increased. The Darkness within me was again re-contained, but it pressed out all the harder now. The sting began to split across my forehead. Holding tightly onto the last vial, I let the pain spread until I was to the point of screaming, clenching all my muscles while still yielding to the sensation. I let out a gasp as I brought the vial to my lips, then downed the potion in a single swallow. Relief spread through my muscles, yet it refused to relieve my mind.

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A/N: I could give a thousand excuses for the delay, but you wouldn't really care to hear them. In reality, I went to Rome and didn't want to come back. I also graduated high school and have been concentrating on college (Penn State specifically – less than one month away). I've gotten into HP theorization more than fanfiction, but I hope to write a bit more often now (knock on wood). Please don't throw things at me.   
  
Anyways, enough babbling.   
  
Music: A bit of everything in my collection. In the last bit, Bob Dylan and 3 Doors Down.   
  
Many Thanks and views from a lighthouse for the reviewers since last: kraeg001 (sorry "soon" wasn't sooner), Lady Lightning, Delphine Pryde, Aredhel Tasartir, crazy-lil-nae-nae, john, Baroness Jumping Rain; Sidda, Jen, Kelei, & Kristine Thorne  
  
And, lastly, if you're curious as to what I'm up to between updates, I have a deadjournal with username whitemudloser. 


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